A Patient Man

by S. Lynn Scott

  She wouldn’t have found me on the salt flats of course, or in the clubhouse or on the beach, mainly because she wouldn’t have been seen dead in any of those places, but it was a fair bet that, given the option, I would make my way to the seafront and, if there, then to the old arcade. She knew the owner anyway and had probably primed him to keep a lookout for me.

  “Wotcha, Mikey?” she said charmingly over my shoulder as I fed pennies into the vacant maw of a slot machine. (Only ever play those that give you a monetary return. Fluffy toys are for girls). She leaned over me and the toxic mix of cheap perfume, cigarettes, and alcohol pervaded the air. Her thin lips were scarlet and her nails blood red. They reminded me of the day that I had found Mr. Freeman and I shuddered involuntarily. She drew back angrily but then took a hold of herself once more. What she wanted was important to her, for self-control was not one of her few attributes.

  “I’m glad I ran into you, Mikey. I knew I would eventually. If I was patient.” She forced a smile, deciding to ignore my obvious distaste and to make an effort to win me over. “Oh, don’t be like that. I was yer Mum’s best friend, remember. I just want a quick word.”

  “Sod off,” I hissed, trying to scoop up my winnings and move away. She gave up trying to be charming at that point which was just as well because it made her even slimier and was clearly quite an effort.

  “Look, toerag, I need you to get ‘old of yer mum. And don’t say that you can’t because I know damn well that you can. You tell ‘er that she owes me, she knows she does, and if I don’t get what I’m owed I’ll take ‘er down even though I ‘ave to suffer for it meself. You tell ‘er that Mikey. If I don’t ‘ear from ‘er in the next month I will tell everything. You got that Mikey?”

  She pushed her sharp face into mine and I could see the open pores and smeared makeup on her grey skin. Like many a piece of work, she looked better from a distance. The farther away the better.

  “Everything,” she whispered, breathing every syllable individually. “It’s down to you. If you don’t get ‘old of ‘er or even if you can’t, then there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

  “Let me go, you old bag. I dunno where she is,” I snapped, trying to pull away from her grasp. The bloke in the kiosk who gave out change glanced up but made no move to interfere. I swore at her and a woman with two kids in tow looked daggers at me and dragged her innocent offspring out of earshot. “Not even Dad knows where she is, so bugger off and leave me alone.”

  “You listen ter me! I don’t care no more Mikey, not about nuffink, I’m gonna have what’s mine and if I don’t get it then I will take her down wiv me, d’you understand? Tell ‘er, I will tell the truth. You got a month.”

  I kicked her shin and made a break for it, but she caught me by the arm.

  “A month, Mikey, one month or I tell the truth about that day.”

  Of course, if Vi could work out where to find me then Dad could as well. I had just twisted myself out of her talons and was bombing towards freedom when he appeared, framed in the door with the sun behind him. He didn’t look at me, he was staring at Vi. She rubbed her leg where I had just landed a lucky kick, adjusted the mini-skirt to preserve what little remained of her modesty and smiled a sharp, bitter, mocking smile at him.

  “Just ‘aving a little word with Mikey, but you should ‘ear this too. I wanna speak to your wife and if I don’t then I’m gonna tell what I know, and don’t you think I won’t because I ain’t got shit to lose either way. You tell ‘er. I wanna see ‘er in a month and if I don’t, well, just you wait and see…”

  She pushed past him, and it struck me that, for the first time, she was not afraid of him. She really did not care.

  Dad let her past, absorbing her violent shove with his thick body, without moving. His eyes were now on me.

  “You shouldn’t talk to that woman, Mikey. I don’t want to see you ever talking to her again.”

  Well, that was bloody unfair. I scowled.

  “Come on, son, get in the car.”

  He turned and walked towards the Jag which was parked on double yellow lines in front of the arcade and I pondered making another run for it. He opened the door, looked back and my bravado failed me. Anyway, I could see Vi tottering away in the distance and I just didn’t have the spirit left in me for another altercation. My wonderful day was over.

  There was something tired and knocked about in my father’s face and in the way he moved. I wouldn’t have admitted it at the time, but I think I didn’t want to add to his miseries, so I shrugged and obediently climbed into the front seat. We drove off just as a traffic warden came around the corner. Dad was always lucky like that.

  “What did she tell you?” he asked after a moment or two.

  “She didn’t tell me nothink, she just kept on and on about wanting to talk to mum. That’s all.”

  He took his eyes off the road and turned them on me. “Nothing more?”

  “No,” I snapped. “What else is there?”

  “Nothing that need concern you. Still, you must stay away from her. She is dangerous.”

  “Why? She can’t do nothink to us. She don’t know nothink ‘bout what ‘appened. If she did she would have dropped you in it before now. She can’t change nothink.”

  There was a heavy silence as we growled through the little suburban streets and turned onto Long Road. I stared at the weather-beaten, ramshackle huts that were Canvey’s shops and fast food outlets, so different from the slick, shiny, multi-storied, glass-fronted businesses of the rest of the world. I didn’t have much love in my life, but I loved them. They are nearly all gone now, but one or two remain, last bastions of …of what? I am not sure. Perhaps it is just because no one sees opportunity there, perhaps there is none, and so the cheap shacks remain, selling cheap things to dwindling customers. Even the one or two survivors will be swept aside soon. Go and see them if you can. Before it is too late.

  “I did not do that…thing, Mikey. I want you to believe that,” said my father. “No matter what you hear and however it looks, even if you ever hear me say that I did, I want you to know that I didn’t.”

  He had the same tone in his voice as when he had spoken to Gary earlier that day. It was sadness or regret. Perhaps both. I chewed my thumbnail and considered. No, he hadn’t done that…thing. All doubts were cast out.

  “Was it Gary?” I dared to ask.

  “No, it wasn’t Gary.” I shrank into the car seat and did not ask any more questions. He knew, but he wasn’t going to tell me and suddenly I did not want to know.

  “You have your life ahead of you, son. This…place has only been a very small part of your life and you must leave it behind now, for good. Don’t keep running back, there’s nothing for you here. I’m sorry that I brought you to see Gary, I was thinking more of him than of what was best for you and it was a mistake.”

  “Okay, but I don’t wanna go back to old Baldy’s place. I can stay wiv you. I’ll go back to school if you want me too and I’ll spend the ‘olidays wiv you. I’ll be good, I promise.”

  There was a moment, just a moment, when he really considered it, I know he did, but there was something hidden that he could not let me see and that would not let him agree.

  “It’s the best chance for you, son. If you stay with me your life will be…tainted.” It was an unusual word for him to use. I shrank further back into the car seat and fought the rising despair that dissolved into silent salt tears. I turned my head away so that he could not see that I was trying not to cry but I’m sure he knew.

  “I want to see Mum,” I choked out eventually. “I want to see ‘er.”

  He was silent as he swung the car around the roundabout and on to Canvey Way.

  “Don’t worry about Vi’s threats, Mikey. I’ll make sure she won’t bother you or your mum.”

  I shifted angrily in my seat. That wasn’t the reason I reall
y wanted to see her. The reason was that I…just wanted to see her. He glanced over and something he saw in my face triggered something in him. He put his foot down and efficiently and with unnecessary speed overtook a battered mini.

  There was something hard and uncompromising in his tone as he said, “Son if you want to see her then you need to speak to Mr. Barker. He can contact her, and she will come back if he tells her to. Persuade him if that is what you want but don’t tell her about that woman. I will deal with that.”

  I was delivered back to the solicitor’s office where Baldy was waiting for me. Becky Sharp lifted one eyebrow at me as she passed out on her way home. My dad was treated to a brilliant smile which he ignored. For some reason, she seemed to like him even more for that. Baldy was coming down the stairs, briefcase in hand.

  “So, you found our young tearaway then?” he said, imperturbable as usual. “We will find him some activities to keep him on the straight and narrow, Mr. Barker, have no fear.”

  “Be good, son,” my dad said and left.

  19

  The love of learning, the sequestered nooks,

  And all the sweet serenity of books.

  Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

  I settled into the grand house, made friends with the Afghan hounds who were beautiful, goofy and not very bright. I learned very quickly how to manipulate Vera, the homely housekeeper, who also was not terribly bright but very soft hearted and who forgave all sorts of transgressions by simply talking herself round to my point of view. I lost my temper once, I can’t remember why, but it culminated in me picking up an ugly pot that was green and grey and apparently quite valuable and hurling it at one of the fine marble fireplaces. Alerted by the quite spectacular crash it made on impact, Vera bustled in, her feet tangled in the cable of the vacuum cleaner, and a look of quite comical alarm on her face.

  “Why Michael, what has happened?” she took a breath after that and, still being too irritable to care for the consequences, I took the opportunity that her silence afforded me to claim full and proud responsibility.

  “I threw it, and it’s broken, and I don’t friggin’ care,” I shrugged.

  “Well, that was very naughty, wasn’t it? Don’t swear dear, it makes you sound common. Oh and look it’s one of the Carlton ware pieces that Mrs Barker likes so much though it’s so ugly that I resent dusting the pieces because to my mind a good layer of dust can only improve their look but still it was naughty of you because it doesn’t, didn’t I should say, belong to you and it shows a lack of respect for other people’s property and that is just wrong and I think you need to learn some basic manners young man and, oh look, there is a chip in the marble on the fireplace and I really don’t know how I am going to explain this to Mr and Mrs Barker, although it is you who should explain really, I don’t really know what they will do but I am sure there will be a punishment of some sort and that is as it should be of course because it clearly wasn’t an accident and you must learn to control your temper whatever happens to upset you and I know that you have had a lot of trouble in your life (I had no idea what she meant by that because I had been perfectly happy before her bloody boss was instrumental in giving us all that friggin’ money.) but that is no excuse for bad behaviour and I can’t see that Mr. Barker will be that keen to contact your mother like you have been asking him to for the last week if you show so little respect for his property…”

  I think I gasped at that, it hadn’t occurred to me until then. It checked her slightly but only for the time it took for her to take another breath.

  “But it was a very ugly pot and truth to tell I don’t think Mr. Barker liked it that much it is just that Mrs. Barker is so artistic and seems to find beauty in things that everyone else in the world with eyes to see knows to be downright horrible however I will have to tell them because if you think I am going to claim that I broke it by accident you have another think coming, the best thing you can do is confess bravely like a young man and take your punishment but I will do my best to see that Mr. Barker still tries to get your mother to come back and spend some time with you for a boy needs a mother and I’m sure yours can’t be all that…, well, look at that, if I rub the mantelpiece where the pot hit you can see that the mark is mainly paint and that there is scarcely a chip at all, but we can’t put the pot back together…”

  Well, you get the idea. On that occasion, she gathered up the shattered pieces of the pot, put them in my hands and told me to go to Mrs. Barker in the conservatory and ‘fess up. Vacuum cleaner in tow she dogged my every step until I got there and then before I could open my mouth to make my very grudging confession she launched into her own confused and wandering explanation that, apart from the salient fact that I had actually broken the pot, glossed over so very many other facts and concentrated so fiercely on the sheer ugliness of the object that had been broken that I began to believe I had done the house if not the world an immense favour by depriving them of it. Mrs. Barker was not fooled for a moment of course but neither was she one to disrupt the smooth tenor of her life if she could possibly avoid it. She studied the broken pieces I placed before her, picked one or two up as Vera burbled on, and put them down again. She did not gesture Vera to be silent, she just started speaking herself and Vera shut up like a clam.

  “It is a shame the boy broke it. It was one of a kind and there will never be another.”

  “Good job,” I thought silently and could hear concurrence in Vera’s suppressed huff.

  “I suppose the boy knows that some things can’t be replaced and that is why they need to be treasured.”

  “Oh, I am sure he does, Mrs. Barker. He’s a good boy underneath it all, why only yesterday he helped me clean the oven and you know how much I hate that task…”

  “He needs to learn to control these outbursts or his life will be more difficult than it needs to be, won’t it Mrs. Godber?”

  “I should say so, Mrs. Barker but he has a good home here and…” I was still wondering what it was that I had done to help her clean the oven, apart from throwing, from a considerable distance, a sponge that Vera had asked for as I passed through the kitchen.

  “We will say no more about it, this time, Mrs. Godber. The next time, if there is a next time, it will be a different matter. Do you think the child understands that?”

  She called me a child and that stung so I decided to sulk, but she knew what she was about because the next time I wanted to throw something, and it happened quite a lot, I always made sure it was not hers or would bounce.

  You will notice that she didn’t speak directly to me. I can’t remember that she ever did but we got on well enough notwithstanding. If we were ever alone together, which wasn’t often as she was always busy doing something, then we acknowledged each other’s presence and no more was needed. If in the company of Vera or Baldy she always addressed any remarks about me to them. No one ever commented on this way of going about things and so I accepted it as the norm and thought very little of it. Funnily enough, when it came down to the important things Mrs. Barker always weighed in on my side. Not with any great enthusiasm, of course, she just made an off the cuff remark and Baldy always listened.

  Oh yes, all right, I admit that having spent most of my life up to that point eavesdropping on the adults in my life, I was hardly likely to drop the habit under the circumstance of living with the Barkers. I don’t know what else I was supposed to do, no one ever told me anything. They seemed to expect me to just do as I was told all the time and accept whatever happened without comment. So, I perfected the art of happening to be in various nooks and crannies in the library, where Mr. Barker was usually to be found, or the conservatory, where Mrs. Barker hung out. There were lots of discreet places to sit innocently with a book where I could remain undiscovered and, if by some accident I was found, I could still conceivably be considered entirely blameless. That was how I found out why I was there. It had always seemed to m
e that there must have been other places or other people I could have been foisted off on. Why the Barkers? They weren’t exactly the foster parent type. Hell, they weren’t even the parent type, or so I thought.

  “How have you and the boy been getting along when I am not here?” Baldy asked one evening when I had been there a week or so. We were all in the conservatory although they didn’t know it. I had followed Baldy in undetected and found myself a perch behind some sort of potting contraption. I couldn’t see them, but their voices were clear on the close, scented air.

  “I don’t see much of him, Henry, so we get on just fine.”

  “I see.”

  “His being here is not going to make a difference.”

  “A difference?”

  “Well, a difference to me. The boy can stay. I don’t dislike him. He’s quite interesting, in some ways.”

  Baldy made some sort of a noise. I think it might have been a chuckle although I had never heard him vocalise any form of humour before.

  “He is interesting, that is certainly true. We’ll see how it goes then.”

  There was a long pause as I crouched, biting my lip and hating them.

  “On Monday of next week, it will have been ten years since we lost him.” Mrs. Barker’s voice when it drifted to me on the scent of gardenias was uncharacteristically wistful.

  “I know…I know. I never forget, Lottie...Although it might seem as if I do.”

  “He would be eighteen now. A young man. I wonder what he would have been like.”

  “Don’t…it can do no good. I do know one thing though, he would never have wanted you to immure yourself in this place. He would want you to have some sort of life. You used to love to travel, we can do that any time you want to, just say the word.”

  “I’m happy here in my cocoon, Henry, but you are free to do whatever you feel you want to. That was always the bargain.”