by James Perch
Whilst grieving for her husband—my late uncle Fred—my aunt had channelled her energies elsewhere. Since he’d been killed in a tragic motorway accident, she’d kept herself busy with different projects, preferring not to mope about and dwell on the past. She always felt his presence around her and would often pass little comments and address them to him, when she was alone in a room. My uncle had idolised my aunt. He’d constantly try to surprise her, often bestowing her with gifts. The last thing he gave her was a pearl necklace, which she wore proudly.
My aunt was currently in the habit of sending off for freebie items and trial products. When the postie arrived she couldn’t wait to get her hands on a package and was like a child at Christmas whenever something arrived for her.
I was glad the lawn didn’t need mowing as there was still a layer of dew underfoot. I noticed that my aunt had left the rotary clothes drier out all night and it looked a little damp. The drying lines hung limply and the pole glistened as the dew ran down its length.
My first gardening chore, by the looks of things, was to trim the hedge. My aunt struggled reaching up high, so I made a point of cutting the hedge right back, in the hope that it wouldn’t be too unruly on my next visit. I wandered up the stone path to the shed on my quest for the hedge trimmer. The last time I used it, I had to throw the lead in clumsily. I opened up the shed door and peered in. A spider’s web was illuminated by the sun streaming in through the Perspex window. Nature could be quite beautiful sometimes.
“Aha,” I said, noticing the tool in question. The hedge trimmer was hanging up, but the extension cable had slipped off the hook and the plug was mangled.
“Not to worry,” I thought to myself. I knew that there was a bag of old leads around here somewhere from long defunct apparatus. I found the bag and riffled through it.
“Hmmm, leads, leads, leads.”
There was an abundance of leads, but plugs? There were none to be found. There was another place to look and that turned up what I was looking for. Uncle Fred’s toolbox had compartments aplenty and within no time at all, I had equipped myself with a screwdriver, a new plug and a pack of fuses. Being a dab hand at screwing, the plug was soon changed and I was all set to go.
All of a sudden I’m back to present day. My head is swimming and I have an excruciating pain in my head. The electric strip-lights dazzle me as I try to focus. Over and over in my head I hear the words ‘fifty bales of hay’. Again and again, repeating like a mantra. It’s not my voice I hear in my head but my father’s.
Dad is sitting down on the sofa. He’s fallen asleep again with the television on. His head is leant back to one side and his mouth is agape. He’s murmuring something. I creep closer and bring my ear closer to his mouth. It sounds like ‘fifty bales of hay’. I guess he’s had a few. There’s a bottle of whiskey in front of him, half full.
My head is reeling. Any recollections of memories associated with Dad seem to give me a feeling of dread. I can’t imagine why. He’s always been very protective of me, maybe overly protective sometimes. I must have some memory loss, because I can’t recall the recent events leading up to this point in time just yet. Trying to remember makes my head buzz and frustration overwhelms me, so I try to relax and think of something else. As I try this new tactic, the pain recedes a little and I zone out once more.
Ginny
My memories take me back a few years this time. At the beginning of a new term, a new pupil, Virginia Taylor, started at my school. She was quite shy at first, but I got to know her better in biology class. She wanted to learn all about organisms, but I just wanted to know all about her. My teacher appreciated me welcoming her to the school and gave me some advice. He pulled me off to one side after class, and confided in me.
“There’s something you need to know about Ginny. Her parents are going through a rough patch right now, and she’s rather sensitive. I’m sure, if you give her a bit of attention and don’t maul her, she’ll soon relax. The absolute last thing I want to hear is that someone has been teasing Ginny Taylor.”
For a few weeks, I hung around town with Ginny, getting to know her better. She lived with her mum, but she’d often stay with her dad for a few hours at his pub, the Coxwell Inn. It was a lively place and usually got quite packed. We weren’t allowed in the main bar, but I’d often join her in the beer garden. When the weather was particularly bad, I’d often go around the back and fool around.
One day, whilst shopping in Woolworth’s, we were mistakenly apprehended for shoplifting. Luckily, another eagle-eyed shopper saw the real culprit, who ran out of the shop after dropping his ill-gotten gains into Ginny’s coat pocket. It didn’t stop other customers talking though. Before long, rumours had got around that the pair of us were thieves. My dad burst into the pub one afternoon and launched himself at Mr Taylor. There was a heated argument and my dad dragged me back to his car. As I sat in the seat next to him, trying to explain the situation, I noticed his expression change. It wasn’t rage, it was fear. He was trying to convince me that Ginny was not somebody that I should hang around with anymore.
“Stay away from her, son. Stay away from all girls. They’re no good for you. They’re nothing but trouble, the lot of ’em.”
For some reason, his fear was more unsettling than his rage, so I sat quietly for the rest of the journey back to the farm. When we arrived home, on entering the kitchen, my father poured himself a Jack Daniel’s and went into the living room, taking the bottle with him. Dad liked a single drink in the evening on occasion. At other times, however, I’d wander in and know that he’d had a bad day. He’d be there nursing a whiskey, with the saddest expression on his face. He’d mumble something incoherently and finish with, “Don’t ever leave me, son. Everybody seems to leave me.” In the morning he’d be sober as a judge and always deny the slipping of his macho persona.
“I’m sorry, son. I didn’t mean to snap. I just want to protect you,” he’d say, as if that would put an end to it. “Keep your chin up, son. Stay happy. Be positive, and as your mum used to say…”
“‘Keep smiling and you’ll get through anything’. I know, Dad,” I’d say, interrupting him.
My recollections jumped about like a jack-in-a-box, but they somehow seemed to be illuminating the path towards my current predicament. Instead of trying to make too much sense of the occasional tangents I was thrown off at, I lay back and let my memories work through to their natural conclusion.
Smashing Plans
After finishing a short stint in the garden, I wandered up into town to the local supermarket. Jez tended to be well stocked up when it came to entertaining, but I never liked turning up empty-handed. I grabbed a six-pack of beer, some fruit, a two litre bottle of cider, some burgers and some fresh crispy cobs from the baker. With these in my possession, I set off homeward bound. Jez turned up just after midday. He was alone.
“I dropped Elaine off at home. She said she’d start getting some salad prepared, to go with the barbecue. I told her to wait for me, but she’s starving.” he said with a shake of his head, “so I’ve lit the coals under the grill. Hopefully we’ll not be long before eating.”
I followed Jez to his car and opened the passenger’s door.
“I’ve invited some of the guys over—don’t want you feeling like a third wheel,” he said with a nudge, “and there’s plenty of food, so you might end up taking some of your stuff home with you.” He flicked on the radio and started tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.
“OK…why did you pick me up in the car?” I asked.
“I just need to pick up Mark, Lorraine, and her friend Keeley. Mark’s car is in the garage at the moment. He’s picking it up tomorrow. Talking of cars…I’ve got something lined up in a few weeks’ time. Do you fancy it? Mark’s dad is letting us use a bit of his land to have a demolition derby. My uncle’s been working on a few old cars. Elaine and I have already tried out a couple of test laps. I spent about ten minutes just slamming into the back of her one Sun
day afternoon. It can be hard work navigating that terrain, physically and mentally. After a day of that I expect we’ll be collapsing together at the climax, utterly spent.
“Go on then,” I said, “count me in.”
We arrived at Mark’s flat and the three of them jumped in the back. Quick greetings were passed around and The Shamen’s ‘Ebeneezer Goode’ came on the radio. Jez turned up the volume, joining in with some lyrics: “Anybody got any Vera’s? Larvly!” and drove us back to his house, cackling like Sid James all the way.
Jez pulled into the drive and we clambered out. When we reached the garden, Elaine was buttering up some bread. She had her baps out, with her nibbles on show, ready and waiting. I licked my lips in anticipation and eyed them greedily. I couldn’t help noticing that she was eyeing up my cobs. When I saw her spread, I couldn’t wait to get stuck in and obviously she was insatiable. She chomped on a couple of Twiglets just to keep her going, but I could see she was hungry for more. It wasn’t long before we needed to tweak the nibbles. Keeley’s OCD had kicked in and she didn’t like the gaps left on the table, so we did a bit of rearranging.
“Cheesy Wotsits?” shouted Jez from the kitchen.
“I hope not! I’ve just showered,” replied Mark. “Maybe you should ditch the briefs and go for boxers instead?”
I lifted my shopping onto a seat by the table and started to unpack it in the crook of my other arm. Elaine steadied the bag when my beer almost fell out, emptying the bag for me whilst I juggled my items under my armpit. She grabbed my plums and I gasped. I didn’t realise that I’d forgotten to leave the fruit at home. Elaine gave me a queer look when she saw my plums on the table. I had to agree that fruit wasn’t a typical accompaniment to a barbecue, so I ran up to Jez’s kitchen and found a spot for them in the fridge.
As I returned outside, I slid my sunglasses on. There wasn’t really any shade by the barbecue, so Elaine was looking quite warm. Jez brought out some ice cubes and wandered past.
“Elaine needs to cool down. She’ll be much happier with some of these in cider.”
“Oh. Nice jugs! Very swish. Homebase?” asked Lorraine.
Jez shrugged and poured Elaine a drink.
“Get your mouth around this,” he said, offering her a glass. She took it and guzzled it down gratefully.
“What’s this white stuff?” I asked.
“Jez, erm…I think your barbecue has been gate-crashed by that pigeon,” answered Mark, pointing to a wood pigeon that was sat on the fence, eyeing up the bread rolls. It was either that or the chicken.
“Aw no! That’s foul,” I said.
“Indeed, but I thought fowl were more…chickens?” answered Lorraine.
“Well that big bugger isn’t,” said Mark. “It’s as brazen as they come.”
Being the only other single there, Keeley wandered over for a chat. She had blonde hair in a long ponytail that came to the middle of her back. She was tall, tanned and athletic looking. Her tight clothes clung to her, accentuating every curve, her blues eyes taking in everything around her. I was guessing she knew everyone, because she was dressed casually in a white skinny t-shirt and jeans, and she seemed comfortable in their company.
“Pleased to meet you, Jake. It is Jake, isn’t it? Are you going to keep me company while everyone’s busy? It is hot, isn’t it? Gosh, I’m hot.”
My mouth opened and closed as I tried to respond to her questions. If I’d had a chance I would’ve joined in, but for now I guessed the right choice was to just nod, grin and listen. It appeared that she liked to talk and was happy with an audience.
“Aaargh!” exclaimed Keeley. “I’ve just bit my cheek.”
“Which one?” shouted Mark who was reclining in a garden chair and listening in.
“On the left side. I’ve not long come back from the dentist. I think the anaesthetic hasn’t quite worn off yet. I’m numb.”
“Oh, did you have some work done?” I asked, showing concern.
“Well…” she said and took a deep breath.
It was at this point that I knew I was going to have a long story unfold before my very ears.
“I got to reception ten minutes early,” Keeley began. Mark and Lorraine shot me a grin and tiptoed away in search of the drinks. Unperturbed, Keeley continued.
“Because I don’t like being late, and spoke to the receptionist. I was told that the dentist’s practice was undergoing minor refurbishment and to just be aware of any workmen lurking about. The workmen appeared to be on a mission. They were all banging away, oblivious to the rest of us. Soon enough, a head popped out of a side room and a deep voice called to the receptionist.
‘Julie, have you got an opening for me next week?’
The receptionist grabbed hold of a big desk diary and pulled it towards her. ‘I should be able to find something for you, Dr. Thomas,’ she replied.
To which he calls back, ‘Page me if you find a slot, please? I’m running late, so I need to crack on.’
Without missing a beat, she responded with, ‘That pager is on the blink at the moment. Can I use your dictaphone?’
The dentist popped his head out again to answer, ‘What’s wrong with your finger? Oh. Sure Julie, just as long as you put it away when you’re finished with it.’
Next thing you know, I hear my name over the intercom and I’m stood up. I walk over and read the plaque on his door: ‘Dr. John Thomas’. Obviously, someone had been polishing his knob, because I saw some Brasso, and some rag in a box next to his door. With all the alterations, I didn’t know if it was an existing knob just cleaned, or a brand new one in the process of being fitted. I grabbed hold of it tentatively. I didn’t want it coming off in my hand. I opened the door and there he was. I wasn’t expecting such a dish. He was a young, attractive dentist. He must have been over six feet tall. His jet black hair was neatly brushed and youthfully styled. He had a strong prominent jaw, welcoming light blue eyes and perfect teeth, naturally. I went into his room and settled myself onto his chair. He gave me a broad smile and sidled up beside me.
‘What can I do for you today, then?’ he asked with a grin.
I was already finding it intimidating under his lamp. I felt like I was being interrogated, not having my teeth examined. I hadn’t been for a check-up since I was young, when I still had my milk teeth. I’m guessing that my sweet tooth had caused decay.
I told him that I’d had a sharp bit on my tooth and was experiencing a bit of pain.
‘OK. Let me see. Open wide for me please? Do you eat a lot of sweet things and drink soft drinks like Coke?’
I admitted that I was a huge fan of all sugary drinks and often bought sweets for something to suck on. I opened my mouth for him to peer in and settled back, trying to appear as calm as I could.
‘Aah!’ he exclaimed. ‘I can see your crack. I think we may need to whip this out.’ After a few hmmms and ahhhs he continued to probe about. ‘Can you open a little wider for me please? Thanks. Now tell me, did you brush before coming here? I think you have a few fragments of a snack in here, sitting on top of your molars. Your teeth aren’t too bad. I just need to remove these nuts from your mouth.’
He then pulled out his instrument and put it in my mouth. After a few scrapes, he uttered another ‘aah’ and prodded me once more. I winced and tensed up. He stepped back and cleared his throat.
‘Yes you have a slight cavity. I’m going to have to give you a filling I’m afraid.’
Before I knew what was happening, I felt a prick in my mouth followed by a tingling sensation, down there, on this part of my mouth. He waited a few moments and then got out his drill. I swear I’d never been drilled so deeply. I really wasn’t expecting it. Once he was done, he offered me a cup of mouthwash.
‘If you’d like to rinse and spit into the basin, I’ve made a bit of a mess in your mouth.’
As good looking as he was, I wasn’t going to hang around. I was out of there as soon as I’d paid my fee.”
Realising that he
r tale had reached its conclusion, Lorraine and Mark wandered back. Mark was obviously a big fan of the gym, because he had really wide shoulders and solid looking arms. He hadn’t made the mistake of concentrating on just upper body strength, his legs looked like tree stumps as well. I guessed he was slightly older than Lorraine and I wasn’t quite sure how these two had got together. Lorraine was in her early twenties and her tiny frame was totally in contrast to Mark’s physique. Lorraine had long auburn hair, which she just let hang loosely and naturally. It was clear to see how smitten she was with Mark. Her smile was genuine and her hazel eyes had a twinkle of mischief.
“Hi there, and welcome back,” I said.
“Good to be back,” said Mark with a furtive wink aimed towards Lorraine.
“Can I be nosey and ask what you do for a living, Mark?”
“Sure. Go ahead.”
I waited for a few seconds until realising that no answer was forthcoming. “Right then. Mark, what do you do for a living?”
“I’m a policeman. That’s how I met Lorraine.”
“I was on my way to an amateur dramatics rehearsal,” she interjected. “I was nervous enough about the show’s opening night without any other mishaps.”
“You’re a proper little thespian aren’t you?” smiled Mark.
“Well she’s never made a pass at me, Mark,” said Keeley, with a shocked expression. “It must have been a brief phase she was going through.” Turning to Lorraine she then asked, “Which part of acting do you like the most?”
“Well, for a start I like a bit of escapism. You can get lost in a performance. The initial rehearsals are good to give you an idea of how to portray a character. You can get your creative juices flowing. Ideas coming thick and fast from your fellow players about how to develop your part. Everyone from the public always refer to the final night as the pinnacle of the show’s run. I disagree. There’s nothing like a warm hand on your opening. There’s no beating it.”