‘Yes, I from Old Country.’ Pavel nodded his head.
‘I’ll leave you two boys to get to know each other then,’ Mum said.
Before I could say NO! PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME WITH HIM she’d made a beeline back up the stairs. Escaped.
We looked at each other. Sussing? I don’t know. All I do know is that it was awkward. One minute I’m lost in bees and books and the next I’m standing in Awkward Town with a stranger from Old Country. An Old Country escapee? Refugee? Little Town never fails to surprise.
Did I mention his eyes were really blue? If my eyes were as blue as Pavel’s maybe Erin F would have been all over me like a tramp on a sandwich.
MENTAL MEMO: DO NOT INTRODUCE PAVEL TO ERIN F IN CASE SHE WANTS TO DIVE RIGHT INTO THOSE BABY BLUE BLINDERS HERSELF.
‘How long have you been in Little Town?’ I asked.
Pavel counted on his fingers.
‘Two hours we arrive since.’
‘Why come here?’ I said. This was a genuine question because I was deadly interested why Old Country people wanted to decamp here. HERE! Maybe they wanted to stand shoulder to shoulder with us against rotten Regimes? Maybe they felt they could somehow be freer here, have an opinion that was safe to voice? If only they knew the half of it. It wasn’t as if we had a load of cool amenities or tourist hotspots. We did have a couple of bookshops, a not-so-inviting park and a shopping street where you could get your hands on last year’s fashions, if you had the funds. By the look of Pavel I didn’t think he was into fashion. Or books.
‘Why Little Town?’ I asked again.
‘Parents make come choice.’
‘Parents, eh?’
‘Old Country no good for parents any longer more.’
‘Why?’
‘Too much of shit.’
‘Was it, like, dangerous?’
‘For parents dangerous. Every night scared.’
‘So you couldn’t, like, go to the flicks or anything?’
‘What flicks?’
‘Sorry, it means cinema.’
‘No. No cinema go for us.’
‘So that’s the reason why you came to Little Town? Because Old Country was too dangerous.’
‘This is reason, yes.’
‘That’s terrible, Pavel. I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘Please call to me Pav. Pavel I no like. Pav much better.’
‘Pav’s good for me.’
‘And your name one more?’
‘Charlie,’ I said. ‘Charlie Law.’
‘I hear not this name before.’
‘It’s old.’
‘Is typical Little Town name, yes?’
‘It was my grandfather’s name,’ I said.
‘He dead?’
‘A long time ago.’
‘Shot?’
‘No.’
‘Prison?’
‘No.’
‘Torture?’
‘No,’ I said with a tiny sneer.
From what Pav was asking it seemed as if Old Country was utter Bandit Country. We’re heading the same way as that place, Dad would mutter from time to time, but I never considered that Little Town would ever get that bad.
‘Grandfather live in no gun time?’ Pav asked.
‘A long time ago, yes,’ I said.
‘The luck man. Maybe we make the big fook-you time machine and go back,’ Pav said, laughing massively from his gaunt belly.
I laughed too.
Our first.
‘Who taught you to swear in the lingo?’ I didn’t correct his mispronunciation.
‘First words we learn.’
I showed Pav around the backyard and told him the best times of the day to see bees, which cats enjoyed it when you chi chi chied them. He let me hear all the swear words he’d learnt in the lingo. Impressive enough. If only he’d put the same learning effort into grammar foundations and sentence construction, then he’d have been on to a winner.
Pav liked bees and cats. He liked the flowers as well. Insects. Animals. Plants. Three things in common, not a bad start. I didn’t want to push my luck and talk about books; my gut feeling was that he wasn’t much of a reader.
‘So how old are you, Pav?’
‘I have fourteen years.’
‘Same as me.’
‘I will fifteen years after summer.’
‘Same as me again.’
‘Ah, yes?’
‘So that means you will be attending my school then?’
‘School near station?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘I no like school.’
‘Don’t worry, Pav, I’ll look after you. Anyway, we still have loads of the summer to go before we think about school.’
The idea of getting in some decent work experience and helping Pav with the lingo popped into my head. He would need a helping hand in case he made a complete arse of himself at school. And for reasons that baffled Mum and Dad, I wanted to be a teacher when I left school.
We saw four different species of bee that afternoon. My record was three. Was Pav my four-leaf clover? Sadly we didn’t discuss books, but Pav told me some of the reasons why he and his family came to Little Town.
5
Shed
There was a rickety old shed at the bottom of our shared backyard. Nobody ever used it, so me and Pav decided that it would be perfect as our sanctuary place. Our boom-boom room. Our lad pad. Pav wanted it to be called THE DEN, that special place where fellas can chat about the ladies, football and Governments.
‘Did you have a girlfriend in Old Country, Pav?’
‘Don’t like girl.’
‘Really?’
‘I no like.’
‘Look, it’s OK with me if you eat your soup with a fork. I’m down with that.’ Pav looked confused. ‘I mean, if you prefer boy hugs it’s OK. I couldn’t give two hoots, but you have to know that I’m a self-confessed ladies’ man,’ I said.
‘No. No. No. No,’ Pav said, waving his arms around. ‘I like the girl and the lady and the woman. I NOT kiss the boy.’
‘OK, Pav,’ I said. ‘But it’s totally fine if you –’
‘I like the girl, Charlie!’ he said.
‘OK,’ I said.
I wanted the shed to become a type of classroom, a backyard school kind of place. Somewhere I could practise my teaching skills and get Pav’s lingo up to scratch before school started.
A small table and two chairs would definitely fit inside the shed, at a push a third chair. There weren’t any other kids my age on our block, and my friends from school weren’t in the habit of dropping by because of the patrols and the curfew, but who knows, maybe if Erin F could get away from looking after her poor mum for a few hours, she’d want to come shedside for some chat and chill of an occasion? I think Erin F needs some quality R & R. Some time just for her. So, a guest chair was an absolute must.
Problem Number One: I didn’t have a clue where to get my mitts on a table and chairs. It’s not like they were just lying around in the streets any longer beside bags of old manky clothes and stinking mattresses. When I was a little kid in Little Town you could easily go around and ask your neighbours or family friends if they were lobbing out any old rubbish or unwanted furniture. People don’t open their door any more to random knocks.
‘Do you have any extra chairs in your house, Pav?’ I asked … You never know.
‘One chair have we. And one big chair.’
‘Big chair?’
‘Long.’ Pav extended his hands to show me what he meant.
‘A sofa, you mean?’
‘Sofa, yes. One chair and sofa.’
‘It’s important that we get our hands on some chairs if we want our shed to be comfortable.’
‘We need to be the thief?’ Pav said.
He clearly hadn’t learnt the rules of Little Town yet. ‘No. No stealing,’ I said.
‘No?’
‘No, we’ll just have to keep a close eye on the street in case anyone is th
rowing away old chairs. Ask people in the know.’
‘I peel my eyes,’ Pav said.
‘It’s keep your eyes peeled, Pav. But good effort.’
For someone so scraggy, Pav was strong. An Old Country ox. When we cleared the shed to make our den, Pav lugged these weighty metal poles and heavy pieces of wood out on his own. He didn’t want any help either; he dived right into the work, chopping through the task like a machete through honey, heaping stuff on to his bony shoulder before piling it all up directly behind the new den. I was no lugger, but my supervisory role was vital just the same. I was more than happy to be the brains and logistics guy of the operation.
Once the place was fully cleared we stood at the doorway gazing at the empty shell we’d created. What Pav had created. A blank canvas of possibilities. I high-fived Pav, who reached up to meet my hand. Slap! His pits were sweaty and pungent. Humming in fact. I tried not to breathe through my nose too much, as the mix of Pav’s body ming and stale shed was eye-watering stuff.
‘We need lock,’ Pav said.
‘First thing we need to do, Pav, is keep this door open and let some air circulate.’
‘Best idea for to get smell out. I agree, Charlie.’
‘It’s a shame there’s no electricity.’
‘No worry. We use fire and battery.’
‘You mean candles?’
‘Yes, fire candles.’
‘I can probably get my hands on some candles,’ I said.
Every house had stashes of candles for when the electricity was clicked off. I always thought that owning a small candle shop in Little Town would bring me untold riches, but standing in a candle shop day after day would’ve melted my mind.
‘Must first get lock to thief stop,’ Pav said.
‘We don’t have anything worth stealing yet.’
‘When stuff come thief will too.’
‘Not necessarily, Pav.’
‘In Old Country you know what they do to thief?’ Pav said, all serious and tense.
‘I’ve heard rumours, but I’m not sure if they’re true or not.’
‘It true, Charlie. It true.’
‘So they actually do … do … that … then?’ I turned my right hand into an axe or a butcher’s knife and made a chopping motion on my left wrist. Bringing the hack down twice.
‘It true. I see happen.’
‘Really?’
‘They come to school, bring teacher outside and do this.’ Pav did the same chopping motion as I had.
My mouth was wide and circular.
‘What did the teacher do?’ I asked.
‘They say he money thief.’
‘Bugger me,’ I said, which made Pav laugh. I’m not big into the swearing game, but whenever I swore Pav found it hilarious. This conversation badly needed a swear word. ‘And was he guilty?’
Pav shrugged his shoulders.
I was going to say another swear, but I said it inside instead, only much harder this time. A real bad one. A belter of a swear word. One that Mum and Dad would have skelped me for if I ever said it out loud.
‘And his hand? Did they just leave it lying there on the ground?’
‘They bag hand.’
‘Was there lots of blood?’
‘Like splashing pool.’
‘And your teacher, Pav, what happened to him?’
He shrugged his shoulders again.
‘God, and I thought here was bad.’
‘What happen to Little Town thief?’ Pav asked.
‘Depends who catches you. If it’s the Regime you’ll go to prison or get a huge fine. But if any of the Rascal gang members nab you, well, you might lose a kneecap or they’ll force you to work for them. Not sure what’s worse.’
‘Fook saking,’ Pav said.
‘So, best not to steal anything.’
‘I think yes I agree.’
‘Not even as much as a grain of sand,’ I said, sounding as if I was warning Pav, educating him on Little Town rules. Someone had to.
‘Why thief want sand, Charlie?’
‘No, Pav, it’s an expression …’
‘Ah, I yank your chain. I yank good.’
Pav’s thin belly and skeleton shoulders bobbed up and down with all his giggling.
It was time to explain to Pav the rules of Little Town. We sat at the doorway and I carefully went through Charlie Law’s Ten Laws of Little Town for him.
*
‘Norman, this is Pav,’ I said.
‘All right, Pav,’ Norman said.
‘Pav, this is Norman.’
‘Please to meet,’ said Pav.
Pav came closer and extended his hand. Norman took it.
‘You the friend good of Charlie?’ Pav said.
Norman looked at me.
‘Pav and his family just moved here from Old Country,’ I said.
‘Old Country?’ Norman said. His eyes opened further, forcing his eyebrows to shift skywards.
‘So they don’t speak the lingo too well,’ I said.
‘Oh, OK,’ Norman said. ‘I dig that.’
‘Not yet anyway,’ I said. ‘I’m going to teach the life out of him before we go back to school.’
‘Oh, brilliant! Can I come? Can I? Can I? Please?’ Norman’s mocking tone made me want to rip out his tongue. He didn’t mean it of course; he liked playing the joker, as he did all the time in school, in the street, at home, everywhere. Norman liked to call himself a man about town, which meant he knew stuff that we didn’t. Stuff in the subterranean, my friend, stuff in the subterranean. He knew some of Little Town’s Rascals, who could get their hands on things ordinary people couldn’t; these men did the dirty work, got down to the nitty-gritty, took the flack but were given the slack. Norman wasn’t as stupid as many people thought, oh no; a proper clever devil, in fact. He just couldn’t be bothered with school. He always knew things that most of us struggled with, stuff like history and religion and philosophy, just didn’t go on about it much. Norman got all his information from books, which meant that he couldn’t have been the scallywag Dad thought he was. But the fact that Norman happened to know some proper bona-fide scallywags who lived in Little Town was exactly the reason I wanted to speak to him. That’s why I’d invited him to our pre-shed meeting.
But if I’d known what this would all lead to, I’d have never have got involved with Norman.
‘So, Old Country, eh? Is it as mental as everyone says it is?’ Norman asked Pav.
‘It very bad place.’
‘Did those bastards chase you out?’ Norman probed.
‘We come Little Town for bester life,’ Pav said. I didn’t want to tell Norman too much about why Pav and his family were in Little Town; it wasn’t my place to open my trap about the family secrets. Anyway, Pav had told me as a trusted friend and, as a trusted friend, I will take whatever secrets are told to me to the grave. I knew Pav wouldn’t have said anything to Norman.
‘What? You came here for a better life?’ Norman said.
‘Yes.’
‘Jesus! Was this the only place you could have come to?’ Norman asked.
‘Only place we get papers for. Only place Dad get job.’
‘What does the old fella do?’
Pav looked at me.
‘Norman wants to know what your father does here for work, Pav?’ I said.
‘He work at hospital,’ Pav said to Norman.
‘Is he a doctor?’ Norman said, as if impressed.
‘He floor and wall clean,’ Pav said.
‘Shit. All the way to this shit town to do some shit job in a shit hospital. Cleaning people’s shit all day. No thanks.’
‘He no floor clean in Old Country.’
‘Pav’s dad had a good job there,’ I said to Norman.
‘Let me guess, Pav. Your old man worked in a shirt and tie job in Old Country?’ Norman was practically in his face. Kissing distance.
‘He was scientist,’ Pav proudly said. ‘He working for big company, but we must
to come Little Town when Government –’
‘Gave them permission to go,’ I said, stopping Pav in his tracks.
‘So, Charlie, you wanted to show me something?’ Norman said without taking his eyes off Pav.
‘I did; it’s down at the end of the garden.’
Pav went first and I led Norman to the bottom of the backyard. I opened the door and we all looked inside the empty shed. Norman entered; standing bang in the middle, he did a three-sixty. I sort of knew what he’d say.
‘What’s this ming heap, Charlie?’
I should have been a betting man.
‘It is now, Norman, but it won’t always be; that’s why I wanted to talk to you,’ I said.
‘Talk. I’m listening.’
‘Well, as you can see, it’s bare. Barren.’
‘You mean it’s got sweet FA in it?’
‘Exactly.’
‘So where do I fit in?’
‘We need three chairs.’
‘Three chairs?’
‘And a lock.’
‘Three chairs and a lock?’
‘And maybe a table.’
Norman stopped craning his neck around; he fixed on me.
‘Do I look like a furniture shop to you, Charlie?’
‘Oh, come on, Norman, you know some people who can get this stuff no bother.’
‘Oh, do I now?’
‘We both know you do.’
‘And what people would that be then?’
‘Well, there’s those … those … erm … subterranean people.’ I felt that it wasn’t the time to mention The Big Man at this stage. I didn’t want to scare Norman away.
He paused.
‘Do you have any dosh?’
‘No one has any dosh, Norman. You know that.’ That wasn’t quite true; some of those Rascals had plenty of dosh. They were rolling in it. ‘It’s just a tiny problem.’
‘I wouldn’t say that. I’d say it’s a massive problem,’ Norman said.
‘I was thinking of negotiating some manual labour or an I-scratch-your-back-you-scratch-mine type of arrangement.’
‘Not really how things are done these days, Charlie.’
‘Come on, Norman, is there nothing you can do? Not even with your contacts?’
The Bombs That Brought Us Together Page 2