“I remember getting a clip across the ear when I’d be tapping my sister up for a few of her sweets,” laughed Frank. “It’s strange, but when I come down here and the ferry isn’t in, I feel a bit… sad. I don’t know why, perhaps it’s the disappointment that we’re not six again, all going on our holiday. How many times did we go to the Isle of Man?”
Stan thought for a moment.
“I’m not sure, it must have been eight or nine years on the trot. I remember feeling guilty, complaining to my parents that I didn’t want to go in the end. I’d give everything I own to be stood here right now, you with your family and me with mine, bags in hand and ready to spend our two weeks on the Isle of Man… and now it’s only me and you that’s left.”
“Bloody hell, Stan. Are you not meant to be cheering me up? I feel like jumping the Mersey now.”
Frank thought a moment before continuing.
“I wish I’d taken my family over there, but they weren’t interested. If there wasn’t a cocktail bar and white sand, she was never interested. It’s a shame, because our Molly has missed out on the things we used to do. Still, I suppose it was a different time and kids of her generation probably wouldn’t have enjoyed that sort of holiday. Or, maybe that’s why I get sad looking at the docks — because I didn’t take her on that sort of holiday. It was all long-haul, but that was to please her mother…
“Maybe I should have been more insistent, and then perhaps she wouldn’t have turned out quite as materialistic as she is. You know what Stan, you and I had nothing. Our parents probably saved up all year to take us on that boat and get us in that boarding house, and there was always money for an ice cream or a bag of chips when we got there. I can still picture your mum and mine sat on the promenade eating candy floss and our dads coming from behind and pushing it into their faces…
“It was simple pleasures back then. I miss that, Stan, I really do.”
Stan looked at Frank with purpose. “Let’s do it,” he said.
“What?”
“The Isle of Man. Let’s do it. For old time’s sake,” said Stan, getting more animated.
Frank curled his nose up for a moment, but the frown turned steadily to a grin.
“Come on!” insisted Stan. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’re now technically eligible for a bucket list, are you not? And this could be the first trip on our bucket list.”
“Our bucket list?” asked Frank.
Stan looked offended. “Damn right, our bucket list, you selfish old bugger. I’m not letting you do it on your own. If I had a terminal illness, I’d bloody well let you come on my list. I’m coming, and that’s that.”
Frank’s face lit up. “We could afford to travel anywhere in the world, first class, and you want us to go to the Isle of Man?” he asked.
“What fun is first class? And besides, I know you too well, you’re not first-class material, you’re as common as muck. We can get the boat over, stay at a small B&B, and revisit the places we went as kids. You always wanted to see the TT Races. We could do that. And we should do that!”
“What about work?” asked Frank.
“Who are you kidding? Stella doesn’t even know we’re there most days, she’ll hold the fort for us.” Stan took his mobile phone and searched for the TT schedule. “Right. Here we go… last week in May and the first week in June. We can go for practise and race week. This is getting booked!”
Frank put his hand on Stan’s shoulder. “Thanks, Stan,” he said. “I mean it. There’s no one I’d rather spend time with on my bucket list than you. Though I’m only coming to the Isle of Man if you give me a couple of quid to buy some sweets for the journey over.”
“Done. But only if you promise not to eat them before the boat leaves! Come on, let’s go and get you settled in. It’ll be weird, me and you living together — we’ll be like the Odd Couple.”
“Stan,” Frank interjected, looking concerned. “I’m not sure the sea air agrees with your fake tan… it looks like your face is melting.”
“Don’t take the piss,” said Stan. “If you’re staying with me then you’re getting a fake tan as well.”
“Do I need to get enough tacky gold to make Mr T jealous, also?” asked Frank.
“Cheeky bugger. Just because you’re dying, doesn’t mean I won’t kick your arse,” said Stan as they walked away from the pier head. “Me and you on the high seas, going to the TT races… I cannot bloody wait. See if you die before we go, I’ll bloody kill you!”
Chapter Three
A fly crawled up the inside of the glass chiller cabinet, in no hurry at all, seemingly so full that it made no attempt to feast on the platter of tired-looking salad assortments below. It couldn’t even be bothered to land and vomit, apparently, so languid was it in its sated state.
Its progress had not gone unnoticed by Eric Fryer, proprietor of the skilfully-thought-out Fryer’s Café. He moved gracefully — like a cheetah stalking a gazelle — and in a flash, he took the off-white dishcloth draped over his shoulder and unleashed it like a whip. The sound of the contact of fabric hitting surface was properly satisfying, and the proprietor bowed his head inside the cabinet as if saying a prayer for the deceased.
“Good shot, Eric, you got it,” said Frank, who’d been looking on in mild amusement.
“It didn’t fly away?” asked Eric, head still lowered. He wasn’t praying after all. “I can’t seem to find the little fucker.”
“No,” said Frank, sat at one of the four tables closest to the cabinet. “You got it, I can see the remnants of the wing and the contents of its stomach are now etched on the inside of your cabinet.”
“Ah. I’d been looking low when I should’ve been looking high.”
Rather than reach for a cloth to remove the fly-related detritus, Eric walked around to the front to admire his precision. “Indiana Jones would have been proud of that one, waddaya reckon?” he announced. “Did Hannah take your order, Frank?”
Frank shook his head. “No, not yet, Eric. I think I’ll probably give the salad a miss, though.”
“Yeah, I would too,” said Eric, who’d now seen that the fly’s other wing had landed on top of a tub of coleslaw that had the first appearances of a crust forming on it. “What can I get you, Frank?” he asked cheerfully.
“Just toast and a cup of tea. Thanks.”
Frank looked at his watch and then to his phone.
“Stan not with you today?” asked Eric.
“No, I’m meeting my daughter. Well. Supposed to be, at any rate,” said Frank, looking at his watch once again. “Punctuality was never one of her most endearing features.”
Hannah took to making Frank’s order, leaving Eric to hover, looking uneasy.
“How’s, eh… how’s Stella?”
Frank looked confused. “Fine, I think. But she’s not exactly an open book. Why do you ask?”
“Nothing,” Eric replied instantly. “Just wondered.”
Frank screwed up his face. “You haven’t… you and Stella?”
“What, no, of course not,” Eric said, looking over his shoulder to ensure Hannah was out of earshot, and then pulled up a chair opposite and moved his head closer. “Well, yes, but don’t let Hannah know, she can’t stand Stella, and she’ll just take the piss.”
“You… and Stella?” said Frank, with a similar reaction to seeing the fly implode. “I’m not sure who I feel sorrier for. How long’s that been going on for?”
“Not long, Frank. She comes in here every morning for her fry-up, with extra bacon. I caught her giving me the eye and I asked her out.”
“You sure she was giving you the eye and it wasn’t just wandering? Because her right eye is lazy and doesn’t point in the same direction as the other. Or is it her left eye?” said Frank, raising his head to picture her face.
“I’ve always liked them with a bit of meat on the bones,” explained Eric. “Gives you something to get a grip off.”
“Thanks, Eric, I think I
get the picture.”
“So, she didn’t mention me?” pushed Eric.
“No… can’t say she did, Eric, but I’ll be sure to put a good word in if she asks about you.”
Eric stared into space with a simple grin on his face. “Great… great, thanks, Frank, what a wonderful night,” he said, evidently recalling an evening of romance. “She’s a special girl, Stella.”
Frank was eager to end the conversation, but sometimes you just have to go with it. “So… you took her out for a meal, or something?”
“No, we went to the cinema. Well, it’d already started so they wouldn’t let us in. I said I’d take her to Nando’s, but she said she’d be happy with a Mars Bar and can of Lilt fizzy pop. She took me round the back of Tesco’s — on the high street — and gave me the best hand-job I’ve ever had.”
Frank grimaced and thought he might well be ill. “How’s that toast coming on, Hannah? Hannah!” he said desperately.
Two burly-looking builders opened the door just then, and it was back to business, thank goodness. And give Eric his due, he knew exactly what they wanted before they’d opened their mouths. He knew appetites.
Frank could see Molly crossing the road and moved to take the table closest to the window. She caught a glimpse of him and scowled in his direction.
Molly barged through the door — almost taking it off the hinges — and looked around the small café with contempt.
For a spring day, it was relatively mild, but the microscopic skirt and painted-on shirt were not really in keeping with the season, with most still sporting a heavy coat. The two builders were quick to make their appreciation known, smiling as Molly took a seat. Good money had been paid for that chest they were admiring, and she was apparently determined to get maximum exposure from it.
She threw her bag on the table.
“What are you doing, are you having some sort of delayed, mid-life crisis?” she said shortly.
“You’re doing that thing that really annoys me, Molly,” replied Frank. “You know. When you’re shouting at me, but you do it as if you’re actually talking, but it looks like and sounds like you’re actually shouting? That thing. It’s really annoying.”
“What are you doing bringing me to this… this dump,” she said, looking around once again. “My clothes are going to smell like fried egg.”
She caught one of the builders staring over at her, and flicked her shoulder-length hair whilst flashing him the faintest of smiles.
“And what the hell is this nonsense that you’ve walked out on Mother?”
“Mother? Since when did you start calling her Mother? And stop shouting at me like I’m a child, please. I tried to tell you yesterday, but you didn’t pick up your phone. I’m sorry you didn’t hear it from me first.”
Molly’s amateur dramatics were increasing. She was twenty, but exceptionally immature, even if she didn’t think so herself.
“My god, Dad, this is so embarrassing. If my friends find out you’ve walked out on Mother, I’ll be a laughingstock. It’s bad enough that they think you’re…” she said, her voice trailing off.
“Yes? That I’m what, exactly?” Frank said. “That I’m a taxi driver, Molly?”
Molly didn’t respond, but did briefly take a more conciliatory tone as the tea and toast were delivered to the table. She gave Hannah, the waitress, a condescending smile.
“Do you want something to eat?” asked Hannah.
Molly barely hid her look of disgust at the suggestion, but then relented.
“Dad, any recommendations?”
“The salad,” replied Frank instantly. “Definitely the salad.”
“The salad it is,” said Molly.
“With chips?” asked Hannah. “Or, I could put a fried egg on the side…?”
“Mmm, I think I’ll just stick with the salad. But thanks for asking,” said Molly, in her condescending tone which came so easy it was almost natural.
Frank cleared his throat. “I need to talk to you about something, Molly. It’s important.”
She wasn’t listening. She’d removed a diamanté-encrusted compact mirror from her bag and admired her perfectly applied makeup. She was also using the reflection to covertly look at the younger of the two builders to make sure he was still staring in her direction. He was.
Like the flick of a switch, and ignoring her father’s announcement, her tirade continued.
“I don’t understand you, Dad. Mother is stunning, and, this may come across as mean, but for someone your age, having a woman looking like that, well, are you stupid or something? Most men would kill for a wife like that.”
“Most men would kill if they had a wife like that,” Frank mumbled under his breath, though not loud enough so that his daughter could hear. He was resisting the overwhelming urge to tell her what her mother was really like. He’d run through this meeting in his head, several times, and was determined to retain an air of dignity.
“Are you cheating on her?” asked Molly.
Frank screwed up his face. “Good god, no, of course I’m not,” he said. “Why would you even think that?”
Molly was barely listening once again. She had a habit of asking a question without being overly interested in the response. Her attention was now taken by turning her nose up at the décor in the café. She had her arms rested on the table, picking at its ageing, flaking varnish like a scab.
Hannah placed the most pathetic-looking salad imaginable onto the table. “Is there anything else I can do for you, or do you have everything you need?” she asked Molly. Getting no response, she shrugged and walked away.
“I just don’t understand this,” Molly said, finally.
“What, the salad?” Frank asked.
“You’ve got a beautiful home,” she continued, her train of thought passing straight past her father’s joke without slowing or stopping. “Money in the bank. Why would you walk out and leave her like this? How could you do it to her? You’re just selfish, Dad.”
“I’m bloody selfish, is it?” Frank said, the flag dropping and his anger charging. “You’ve got to be joking. Do you know what it’s been like for me living with your mother? Do you have any idea? The only thing she’s cared about is what people think of her — or, more importantly, what people think of me — if we’re doing well enough, and properly keeping up appearances.”
“She loves you, and wanting the nicer things in life is not a good reason to walk out on her. You’re tearing this family apart.”
“Bloody hell, Molly!” said Frank loudly. “Look, I didn’t want to tell you this, but I caught your mother in bed with her fitness instructor!”
Molly did not respond to this, not as one should expect.
“You can work on your marriage,” she insisted. “You can both recover from this.”
Frank screwed up his face again. “Your mother threw a pair of leather underpants at me, with a strap-on dildo attached,” he said. “A vibrating strap-on dildo. That sort of thing you do not recover from,” he said animatedly, his voice juddering.
“Boris is just a phase,” Molly said flippantly. “Surely you’ve cheated on her…”
“No. No, not once have I cheated on your mother. I wouldn’t do that.”
Frank took a mouthful of his tea.
“Hang on, how do you know about Boris? And how do you know it’s just a phase?”
Molly flicked the limp-looking lettuce with her tarnished fork. “Mum told me she had a fitness instructor. Called Boris.”
“You’re avoiding the question, Molly. Everyone knows she has a fitness instructor called Boris — she was very insistent on telling people — but you said it was a phase. So you must have known your mother was sleeping with him?”
Molly bowed her head like a guilty dog.
“Who else knew about them?” asked Frank, but then quickly changed his mind. “Oh, you know what, it doesn’t matter. There are more important things to worry about than them two, and to be honest, I’m beyond caring. The
y’re welcome to each other.”
“Dad, I’m worried about you. If you leave her in the house, where are you going to live? You should go back to her.”
Frank smiled. “I know exactly what you’re worried about. You’re panicking that I’m going to chuck you out of the penthouse apartment you’ve been living in rent-free for the last twelve months. Don’t worry, Molly, I wouldn’t dream of being so selfish…
“Look, Molly, there is something I need to tell you, but I want to do it in a calm manner. I don’t want you to think I’m doing it while I’m angry to score points—”
Molly raised one finger to silence him as she reached for her phone.
“Hi, Sue,” she said, listening for a moment.
She mouthed an apology to her father.
“Yes, I can be there in five minutes,” she said into her mobile.
She put the phone to her chest and picked up her bag.
“Dad, I’ve got to go, sorry.” She kissed him on top of the head. “You’ll be fine, Dad. If I can do anything, just let me know.”
She put the phone back to her ear and continued her conversation. “Hmm? Oh, he’s fine,” she said, walking out the open door. And then, after a short pause, “Oh, no… he said I can stay there. So, yay!”
Out on the pavement, she walked past the window where Frank was sat with a renewed spring in her step, giving him a half-wave as she left him there.
Eric had his elbows resting on the counter and waited until Frank caught his eye.
“Frank, I might be out of order saying this, but your daughter, she’s a bit of…”
“Selfish cow?” said Frank.
“Well, yes. She didn’t even eat her salad.”
Frank 'n' Stan's bucket list - #1: TT Races - Poignant, uplifting and exceptionally funny! Page 3