The Flyer

by Stuart Harrison

  ‘We should have a celebration,’ she said. ‘Why don’t we have a meal somewhere?’

  He agreed, even though he was trying hard to save his money. Ruth teased him because he was careful never to get fined for even the smallest thing and because he was so frugal.

  ‘I have to be if I don’t want to end up working in the stockroom for the rest of my life,’ he told her.

  ‘You don’t have to worry about that,’ she laughed. ‘I bet you’ll end up a buyer one day, you wait and see.’

  He wanted to explain that he meant he didn’t want to work for Ballantynes for ever in any position, but then she would want to know what he was going to do, and since he didn’t have any idea he decided not to say anything.

  To celebrate, they went to a restaurant where they had dinner. Afterwards Ruth held William’s hand as they walked along the street, and when they took a short-cut through the park he kissed her against a tree.

  ‘Have you ever done it?’ she asked as they stood together in the dark.

  ‘No,’ he said, embarrassed by his admission.

  ‘Neither have I. But I will with you, if you want me to.’

  He did want to, and he kissed her again, but after a minute she pushed him away.

  ‘You’ll have to get something so I don’t get in the family way,’ she said, straightening her clothes. ‘Then you can take me to the country next Sunday. We’ll have a picnic somewhere nice.’

  She was very practical, he thought.

  CHAPTER 8

  At the beginning of May, during William’s second year working for Ballantynes, a wooden chest of drawers had to be delivered to a farm-house on the Kettering Road. On the way back to Northampton, William stared out at the countryside. After the long winter the trees were green again and the hedgerows by the side of the road fat with spring growth. Though there was still a chill to the air, and the sky that day mantled the land with a dull grey hand, there was a freshness in the breeze and birds wheeled about the woods, returned from warmer climes.

  Frank was whistling tunelessly, his hands on the wheel as the lorry jolted along on its inadequate springs. William imagined the summer ahead, long days in the shop when he would rather be… rather be where, he wondered? Doing what? They were familiar questions, the scope of his answer narrowed by lack of money.

  From underneath the bonnet, amidst the intricate machinery of the engine, came a sound of clanging metal. Frank, oblivious, continued to drive. Perhaps it had only been a stray stone flung up by the wheels William thought. But a mile from the town, Frank cursed and with much grinding of metal teeth and tugging on the stubborn lever he changed gear.

  ‘Bleedin’ thing’s playin’ up again.’

  The lorry slowed and a trail of steam issued from the bonnet. The radiator hissed, leaking what was left of its boiling contents. They stopped, and William lifted the bonnet to find that a hose had split, probably caused by the stone he’d heard earlier.

  ‘I can’t do anything until it cools down,’ he said. ‘Anyway, one of us will have to fetch water.’

  ‘My back’s killin’ me,’ Frank said immediately. ‘You’d better go, Will.’

  ‘Yes, alright.’

  William didn’t mind a walk anyway, and it meant they would be out a bit longer. Lately he’d begun to dislike his work, though on reflection it wasn’t so much the work as the way he was living. He had the feeling that life was rushing past and he, with eyes dulled from boredom, was a spectator to it all.

  He remembered a cross-roads just beyond the edge of town, where new houses were springing up all around. There was a pub there that had once been a coaching inn. When he reached it he asked if he could fill his can with water and the landlord directed him to a tap in the yard. As water splashed into his can William noticed an empty building with a sign on the door offering it for rent. He thought it must have been part of the old stables once. A motor went past on the Kettering road, and then another turned out of the cross-roads. They weren’t exactly a common sight, at least not outside of the main towns, but their numbers were certainly increasing. Manufacturers were springing up all over the place, growing from small engineering firms or bicycle shops. William read about them in the magazines he bought. Names proliferated, more every week: Wolsely, Riley, Clement-Talbot, Morris. There were races at Brooklands and on the Isle of Man, capturing the public’s imagination. Cars were no longer only for the rich. Smaller, cheaper motors were being made for the ordinary man, like the American Ford.

  Water splashed from the can over William’s feet, and he turned off the tap and went back to the pub to look for the landlord. ‘I couldn’t help noticing your sign on the building next door,’ he said. ‘Have you had much interest?’

  ‘Trouble is, it’s too far from the town,’ the landlord said. ‘I thought mebbe a saddle-maker or some such might want it, but I ‘aven’t ‘ad much luck yet.’

  ‘How much rent are you asking?’

  ‘It’s reasonable enough, if I say so myself. Only twenty five pounds a year.’

  William thought it was still too much, though it was much cheaper than anything that could be had in town. He asked to have a look inside and the landlord took him out and unlocked the door. There was just a large open space with stalls partitioned off along one side. It wouldn’t take much to adapt it, William thought.

  When he got back to the lorry, Frank was sitting on the grass leaning against one of the wheels, sleeping contentedly. William cut off the end of the split hose and re-clamped what was left before filling the radiator. When he cranked the handle, the motor chugged into life again and Frank jumped up.

  ‘You might’ve bloody told me you was back!’ he exclaimed indignantly.

  ‘Sorry,’ William said, smiling.

  A few minutes later when they passed the pub again, he looked carefully at the building, his mind spinning with possibilities.

  *****

  On Sunday, William got up early, before it was properly light, and quietly gathered his things. Taylor and the others were still asleep, but Brown’s bed was empty. The bathroom was on the floor below, but William found the door locked. He waited on the landing outside, listening to Brown vomiting. Brown had come back drunk the evening before though he’d managed to conceal it from the house superintendent, or else he’d slipped him a bottle of beer to keep quiet. They were thick as thieves.

  The door opened and Brown appeared wearing a dressing gown over his pyjamas. A miasma of stale cigarettes and beer mingled with last night’s regurgitated supper clung to him. His eyes were bloodshot and his complexion sallow. His mouth curled when he saw William.

  ‘Oh, it’s you is it, Reynolds. Sneaking away early again, I see. What plans have you got today, I wonder? An afternoon at the museum is it? Or a tea dance at The Grand with your Miss Hodges? I expect you’ll read Greek to her from that book you’re always carrying around.’ Brown’s expression twisted in a sarcastic leer. ‘I’ll bet she’s impressed with all that education and your fancy talk. Gets you into her pretty little drawers, I’ll wager.’

  ‘Have you finished in there?’ William said, used to Brown’s unpleasantness.

  ‘No need to get sniffy with me, lad. You’ve got ideas above your station, that’s your trouble. Bloody stockboys reading Greek. It’s like shit with strawberries. No fucking point to it at all.’

  ‘I’d appreciate it if you’d let me in,’ William responded calmly.

  ‘Appreciate it would you?’ Brown echoed nastily. ‘And what if I choose not to let you in, eh? What’ll you’ll do about that?’

  Brown had a cruel, sardonic manner which he used like a knife on those he thought he could intimidate. It was worse when he drank, which he did as often as he could afford to. It brought up, in more ways than one, all of his pent up bile, his hatred of the world that he imagined himself unfairly treated by. He was middle aged, a man without a home or family of his own, dependent on his employer for everything.

  William stood his ground, and though a
nger flashed in Brown’s eye, William was young and tall. On consideration, Brown’s ire quickly withered and expired and he pushed past with a scowl. When Brown was gone, William bathed and dressed, and by seven-o-clock he was walking in the park. He mulled over the idea that he’d been thinking about all week, going over the figures he’d jotted down, such as they were. At eleven he was waiting for Ruth by the statue of Prince Albert, where he’d arranged to see her.

  She waved when she saw him and when they met she kissed him. ‘Hello, have you been waiting long?’

  ‘No, I’ve been walking around.’

  She tilted her head to one side. ‘You are a deep one aren’t you, Will.’

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Yes.’

  It was a sunny day and people were out walking with their families. A couple went past with three children, the youngest in a baby carriage. The woman looked at Ruth and they smiled at one another.

  ‘Have you heard anything about Mister Barnett, Will?’ Ruth asked him, referring to one of the assistants in the Gentleman’s Clothing department who had given his notice. Ruth had encouraged William to put his name forward for the vacancy, and though he wasn’t sure he wanted to work on the shop floor, he’d agreed when she pointed out that he would earn half as much again as he did in the stockroom.

  ‘Not yet,’ he answered. ‘Anyway, I’m not sure I’d accept the position.’

  ‘What on earth d’you mean?’ she said sounding shocked.

  ‘I’ve been thinking about giving my notice.’

  From Ruth’s expression he might have said he was considering committing murder. ‘You can’t mean it, Will!’

  He told her about the building he’d seen for rent. ‘It’s away from the town, but it’s right beside the crossroads. I think it would be a good place to start a garage. I couldn’t afford somewhere right in town, but the landlord’s only asking for ten shillings a week, and I think he might take less.’

  He asked her to sit down on a bench, and he showed her the figures he’d done. Though she listened, her expression was set disapprovingly, but he hardly noticed. The more he talked, the more excited he became. It was as if speaking about his ideas out loud made them seem more real.

  ‘I’ve got a bit over twenty pounds saved,’ William told her, though she already knew. ‘I’m sure if I look around I could find some second-hand tools and equipment. If I can get an account with one of the bigger places for parts I think I could manage. I imagine I’d need a bit to live on while I get established, but once people get to hear about me, well, it’s not very far to go really, and there are new houses being built all the time out that way.’

  He went on, thinking ahead into the future. His first aim would be to make a living, but as time went on and he established a proper reputation with the bank he thought he might start selling cars as well as repairing them. ‘Second hand to begin with. I could buy them cheaply and fix them up so I can sell them on for a profit.’

  Eventually he became aware that Ruth had said almost nothing. ‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked her. He realised that he wanted her approval, or perhaps her encouragement. He wanted somebody to believe in him, perhaps because he wasn’t certain that he did himself. At the back of his mind was the constant memory of what it had been like when he first came to Northampton, and he’d wandered the streets without anywhere to live and without any money. He remembered his feelings of hopelessness and despair.

  ‘I suppose it’s all very well for somebody who wants to do that sort of work,’ Ruth said.

  ‘You sound as if you don’t approve.’

  ‘It’s not for me to approve or not, I’m sure,’ she said.

  ‘Motoring is the future, Ruth. There will be wonderful opportunities for anybody who wants to take them.’

  ‘Well, I wouldn’t know anything about that,’ she said, though he thought he detected a glimmer of interest. ‘Where would you live, anyway?’

  ‘At the garage to begin with, so that I can save money. I don’t need much. A bed and a table. I expect I’ll manage. At least I won’t have to answer to anybody. I’ll be able to come and go as I please and I won’t have to sleep in a room with other people.’

  ‘You wouldn’t always have to live like that if you stayed at Ballantynes,’ Ruth said. ‘If you got Mister Barnett’s position I bet you’d do well. I wouldn’t be surprised if you was made a manager in a year or two, Will, and then one day you’d be a buyer. Everyone knows you’re clever, and you’ve got such nice manners and you speak so well. It seems wrong to throw it all away and waste all the money you’ve saved up all this time just to work in a dirty garage. Look at Mister Samuels,’ she went on, referring to one of the buyers. ‘Him and his wife have got a lovely little house and two little children who’re ever so sweet…’

  She continued painting the picture she had obviously been carrying in her mind, and William realised that Ruth had different expectations than he did of their relationship. He knew he wasn’t in love with her, though he was very fond of her. She was kind and pretty and not unintelligent, and she had ambitions, even if they were not the same as his own.

  ‘Will you think about it, Will?’

  He looked at her, realising she’d asked him a question. ‘Yes, of course,’ he said, not knowing what else to say.

  ‘Good, I knew you would.’ They got up, and she slipped her arm through his.

  A few days later Mister Wilkins told William that Mister Dodd wanted to wanted to see him. On his way through the shop, William passed the Gentlemen’s Clothing department. An assistant approached a customer who had paused in front of a display mannequin.

  ‘Good morning, sir, how may I help you?’ the assistant said.

  ‘I was just admiring this jacket. Have you got it in my size do you think?’

  ‘A very good choice, if I may say so, sir. If you’ll step this way I’ll just take your measurements.’

  The customer made an impatient gesture. ‘I haven’t time for all that now. Surely you ought to be able to make an estimate.’

  ‘Of course, sir, you’re quite right. I expect you’re about a forty two. If you’ll excuse me, I won’t be a moment.’

  ‘Alright, but be quick about it.’

  As the assistant scurried away, William tried to imagine working on the shop floor instead of where he was. At least he got away for a little while on most days and usually spent an hour or two working on the lorry or Mister Dodd’s motor.

  When he arrived upstairs he was told to wait. After a few minutes he was shown into the manager’s office. He realised he’d never been there before. Mister Dodd sat at a large desk beside a tall window that looked out onto Gold Street.

  ‘There you are, Reynolds. Sit down.’ He waved to a chair. ‘Did you manage to sort out that leak by the way?’ he asked referring to oil that had been seeping from the engine of his car.

  ‘Yes, it was just a worn seal.’

  ‘Good. Thanks. Now, I wanted to talk to you about this vacancy in Gentleman’s Clothing. Of course, working on the shop floor, dealing with customers and so on, is quite different from working in the stock room, but in your case I’m quite certain you’ll do very well. After all, you went to Oundle, didn’t you?’

  ‘Yes, Mister Dodd.’

  ‘I imagine you did well in your studies there?’

  ‘I believe so. I was offered a scholarship at Oxford.’

  ‘Why didn’t you go?’

  ‘I couldn’t afford it. My benefactor died before I finished school.’

  ‘I see. Well, I think you’ll find your education will stand you in good stead, Reynolds. In fact, if you apply yourself I don’t see why you shouldn’t do very well here. Perhaps in a year or two we might move you up. You might be a buyer by the time you’re twenty five. I myself was once a buyer, in fact. You can take up your new position next Monday.’

  Dodd sat back with a benevolent smile to wait for William’s reaction.

  For a moment William hesitated. ‘I’m very gra
teful for the faith you’ve shown in me, Mister Dodd. But I’m afraid I’m unable to accept your generous offer.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘The fact is, sir, I’ve decided to give my notice.’

  As he spoke, William’s heart thudded in his chest. He felt a mixture of apprehension and elation. He hadn’t known he would resign, but now that he had, he already felt as if he’d cast off invisible chains.

  ‘Do you realise what you are saying, Reynolds?’ Dodd said, completely taken aback.

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ve thought about it carefully.’

  ‘I see,’ Dodd said coldly, his manner abruptly changed, as if William’s decision was a personal affront. ‘Frankly, I think in that case I may have overestimated you. Obviously you are not suitable after all. Good afternoon, Reynolds.’

  At the door William turned to say goodbye, but Dodd was already busy with the papers on his desk and he made no response, as if to his mind William had ceased to exist.

  That evening after the shop closed, William told Ruth what he’d done. Disappointment flooded her eyes. ‘We’ll still be able to see each other on Sundays if you like,’ he said. ‘You can come out and see the place once I’m settled.’

  ‘I’ll have to see what I’m doing, won’t I?’ she responded. ‘Anyway, I hope you don’t think I’d want to spend my time off in some dirty garage.’