Lost Lad (28 page)

           
"A should leave it be if a were you.  Ya never know what ya'll rake oop.  Ya grandma allus use ta say 'Let sleepin' dogs lie'."

This was not the only reason for constraint, the other was the physical nearness of Gary Mackenzie.  Esteemed or not, this tall unknown handsome blond was a man, and Joyce Hogg, the lifelong spinster, had always been very nervous of strange men who came from outside the family and Bog Hole.  Each time Gary addressed her directly she immediately averted eye contact, became downcast and examined a filthy old peg rug she had made years ago at school from bits of coloured rag.

The consumption of three minuscule fairy cakes and three further cups of lukewarm stewed tea concluded the tasty, if rather sparse meal.  Small talk had run its course.  The conversation gradually dried up leaving long and slightly embarrassing pauses causing a small amount of tension.  During one silence, Joyce looked up through the window and eased the tension with a slow and easy -
" ... mmmmmmm."
  The bird moved.

           
"Nice parakeet,"
said Gary.

           
"We call it a budgerigar,"
said Simeon.

           
"Mmmmmm,"
said Aunty Joyce.

Suddenly - the bright clean surprise tinkle of a bell!  To the rescue came - Joey.  All eyes turned upon the little budgie who had cleverly rang his bell and provided a delightful distraction.

           
"Elo, Joey!  Are ya showin' off.  Joey Joey Joey!"
  repeated a delighted Aunty Joyce.  She pushed her face up close to the cage and pursed her lips to make a kissing sound which both revolted and annoyed Gary.  For the benefit of his hostess, he tried hard to maintain a half smile to suggest his pleasure at such charming behaviour, but was further aggravated when his mischievous friend said -

           
"Joey Joey Joey!  Look at Joey, Gary!"

           
"I can see Joey,"
responded the other, through his teeth.

They were all rewarded by a single chirp, a cocked head on one side  and a second peck of the bell.  At that moment the show became really interesting when Joey did his party trick.  He put his little head under the bell giving the amusing appearance of wearing a hat.  Aunty Joyce twittered and chuckled.

           
"Put ya 'at on, Joey.  Joey Joey Joey.  Look, Simeon, Joey's got 'is 'at on!  Joey Joey Joey ... "
and so on.

After a few more minutes of the infuriating trivia, Gary interrupted -

           
"You were going to show me that breathtaking view of that ... what was it ... Christ Stand?  The inland light-house?"

           
"Crich Stand.  It's a war memorial.  Come on."

They gave profuse thanks, made apologies and walked out of the kitchen door into the back yard.  Gary was curious about the apparent kitchen extension and three doors.  Simeon smiled before entering into the vernacular -

           
"Coalas, shitas an weshas.  But of course we Hoggs never use words like 'shit'."
 

His grin widened as a distant and embarrassing memory drifted through the years.  It was on a similar back yard where Dobba once went to call on a mate whose uncouth dad, unshaven with braces, was sitting, sunning on a dustbin just outside the lavatory.

           
"Ays a-in
[having]
a shit!  Are ya still in there arr youth?"
he used his elbow to pound on the door.  A deep muffled voice from within answered with -

           
"Sod off." 

           
"Dobba's 'ere.  Ays coom fa thee.  Wot ya doin'?  Are ya wankin' a summat?  Come on out ya dotty bugger!"

           
"Sod off."
    

Simeon decided not to share this memory with Gary and, instead, translated -

           
"Coal-house, lavatory and wash-house.  Aunty Joyce never has to worry about a power cut.  Look at this."

He opened the first door to show the bricked up copper caldron and fire grate beneath.  Simeon's bicycle, ever ready for his annual summer visits, was leaning up against the wall.  Attention was drawn to several metal pails, the big dolly tub, the ponch and the wooden dolly peg.  He joked that the end part had always reminded him of cow's teats.

           
"This is simply unbelievable!"
said Gary. 
"She washes clothes the medieval way!  Can't she afford a washing machine?"

           
"She doesn't want one.  Why should she change when she's perfectly happy doing it the same way her grandmother did it?"
 

Although Gary was only three years younger than Simeon, the function of these items of laundry, including the great cast iron mangle had to be explained.  This American could not remember a time when a fully automatic washing machine was not a part of the Mackenzie modern fitted kitchen.  One of his early memories as a seven year old in 1955 was the excitement of the delivery of the new colour TV set.  The residents of Bog Hole waited a further five years to see their very first black and white television.  Only Gary's grandfather could recall an absence of electricity where he lived in a remote part of northern Michigan.  Simeon had brutal memories of a gas lit Mundy Street Boys School.  Most families in Allen Park had two or more automobiles in 1955, but in that same year, a Heanor youth would be lucky to get a ride in a motorcar at all.  Gary had never known a time when he didn't have access to a daily shower.  Aunty Gertie and Uncle Fred considered themselves posh to be the only family '
in t' Ole
' to have the modern luxury of an indoor bath.  The world of young Gary could not have been more different to the more primitive world of young Simeon and they often had interesting discussions on that subject. 

           
"And I have never, ever, had to go outside of a house to use the toilet!  Not even in France," 
said the honoured guest, slightly revolted at the sight of the Victorian lavatory with its 'pull chain'. 

           
"Shush!  She could hear you.  She's works very hard to keep this loo clean.  Look - it's spotless.  Can you smell the Dettol?  Like the pavement in front of the house.  She's proud of it.  Anyway, you won't need to leave the house.  There's a perfectly good antique chamber pot in our room.  You like antiques.  It won't get too full because she empties it together with her own every morning without fail."

Recognising the familiar wind-up, Gary garnered restraint.  He met his friend's twinkling eyes, spoke softly and slowly with great control -

           
"If you think, that I, am going to squat over a smelly orange pot of piss, in that small room, in front of you - then you can start thinking about getting me into an en-suite room in a hotel - hang the expense!"
  

           
"She locks us in at 11.00pm.  Oh well, I suppose she'll give you a key to use the toilet.  There you go," 
he pointed.
  "You'll never see anything like that in Allen Park.  Can you see?  Right in the distance on the horizon - Crich Stand.  It'll start flashing in about two hours."

           
"Very phallic,"
came the slightly testy reply, but Gary acknowledged the north westerly view as impressive.  He took a little time and his eyes swept over the patchwork panorama of varying gentle shades of green and grey.  He noted the occasional small splash of dark brown which spoke of far off communities.  Further still, a distant misty sea of deeper green could just be discerned, the special green of Derbyshire woodland and fern meeting the sky.  

Chapter 24

Clothes of the Dead

It was time to unload the car and check into the room.  Gary noted two beds, a double and a single -

           
"... on the floor!  Why do we sleep on the floor?"

           
"Best way.  You recall that awful back trouble I had in the mid 1970's?  Aunty Joyce's bed: it cost me a fortune in medical bills.  To be more precise, Grandma and Granddad's bed: so old, tired and worn, it was no better than a hammock.  No support at all.  Just a few nights put me in agony.  It's still there, she'll never get rid of it."
 

Simeon pointed to an untidy heap of ugly Victoriana leaning up against the wall. 

           
"That is disgusting!" 
said Gary.

           
"The old bed?"

           
"No this 'eye'."

Gary had discovered the antique chamber pot which had an open 'eye' looking directly up at the user.  He took an armful of clothes to hang in the wardrobe and received a shock.

           
"What's this!  It's full!  And there's two of us."

Simeon explained that each year since 1965, Aunty Joyce had always removed about four garments from the wardrobe as a concession to make a few inches of room for his own clothes for the time that he was resident.  Gary was close to boiling point.

           
"A few inches!  I need more than a few inches!  How can a woman like that need so many clothes?  She never goes anywhere.  She looks like she hasn't changed her clothes at all since 1965!"

           
"Calm down, Gary, she may hear you.  Look ... they are not her clothes ... "

           
"Not her clothes?"

           
"No.  They belong to her dead sister, my old Aunty Elizabeth and Grandma.  I suppose it's sentiment."

A moment earlier Gary was near to boiling, now he was steaming, struggling for self control and rapidly approaching apoplexy.

           
"Let me get this straight.  For the last 38 years you have been
laying your shirts, coats, suits and pants all around this miserable little room because that stupid old woman down there gives priority to the dead.  The living need the space but, in her book, the dead come first.  Am I correct?"

           
"Not quite.  There
is
room in the wardrobe for two of my suits.  The rest have to lay around.  Gary!  Think about it.  Think of the money I've saved over those 38 years.  Some of those years were lean years and I wouldn't have been able to afford an eight to ten week vacation.  London is expensive.  Derbyshire is central, a good base.  Closet space has never been a big issue because I simply accept her rules."

           
"Do you know what I would like to do to that woman?"

Simeon was silent.  He waited for a narration of the forthcoming evil fantasy.  These sadistic scenes had been heard many times before.  This was, in fact, a good sign.  The final stage of the Gary Mackenzie tantrum had now come.  Apoplexy had been averted because, now, a dramatised verbal vengeance would be inflicted.  All being well, the histrionics would pass and Aunty Joyce would know nothing about it and not be the slightest bit damaged.  It also had the added advantage of diminishing the fury of Gary Mackenzie.     

           
"I'd like to tie her up in a chair in front of that fire place and, slowly, one by one, in front of her eyes, burn each item of clothing in that hideous old closet.  Oh boy!  Wouldn't I just love to gloat watching her struggle to get free and try to scream against the gag."

This monstrous suggestion had the effect of reducing Simeon to roars of laughter which eventually infected his friend who had, by now, reviewed his position with regard to the cost of guest house accommodation.

           
"Poor Joyce!  How could you be so nasty.  It would serve you right if she tied
you
up to a chair in the middle of the Woodward Bar and had Bun Bun dance around you for a couple of hours!"
     

Minutes later they came down the stairs and heard voices at the front door.  Aunty Joyce had received a visitor.  Uncle Wilfred from number three had noticed the car and came to enquire.  When they came in sight he stared very hard at the two guests.  This familiar and rude ogling had never failed to irritate his nephew.  Big round rheumy eyes, a pouting lower lip, and an annoying silence seemed to shoot out a reproach from the cantankerous old man who eventually gave voice to his unwarranted grievance -