Lost Lad (36 page)

            And yet Simeon, the sensible mature man, knew, only too well, the basis of this idealised perception.  Danny Forrester was seen through a window of time long past.  Danny, essentially a good person, had been there for him at William Howitt Secondary Modern School, giving respect and friendship at a crucial moment of his life.  What if that friendship had been tested by continuation beyond 1960?  What if the friendship had been tested by the inevitable divergence of two different personal paths:  divergence of temperament or sexuality?  What if the friendship had been put to the test of a crisis - a friend in need?  Simeon Hogg swept away these dark thoughts.  He would rely on instinct.  Danny Forrester had sounded just the same, he sounded fantastic ... A car drew up.

            A car?  Danny Forrester was getting out of a car!  Not just any car.  It was big and brand new.  That was not right.  Danny should have arrived on a rickety old push-bike.  Until that moment, Simeon had been fearful of what he would see.  Forty three years: Danny would be 58!  How could Danny be 58?  That was not right either.  Danny would always be 15.  He must stay in that time-warp - forever, just like in the treasured school photograph when he stood next to Miss McLening sporting his Double Diamond tray.  Danny must stay frozen forever in that single moment of time just before Easter 1960.  Simeon feared what he would see emerging from that car.  Reality had forced itself into his mind.  Danny Forrester might look old, he might be grey - like Simeon who, as Gary put it, regularly 'hit the ink bottle'.  Danny Forrester might be bald and bent - but it was observed with sheer joy and relief that Danny Forrester was none of these things.  Simeon recalled a scruffy, skinny Danny, ever wearing a big cheeky grin on his (if not handsome) pleasant and good-looking face.  The man who alighted from that car wore the same big cheeky grin on a face which was hardly touched by the passage of time.  The skinny frame had gone: gone, but it had not been replaced by fat or the disfiguring beer belly so typical of working class culture.  The body which confidently walked tall towards the awe-struck man standing outside number four Bog Hole, was an improvement on the scrawny Danny of 1960.  This was a fit man, well made and well proportioned. 

            They embraced.  It was the first time that had ever happened.  Heanor boys never embraced, it would have violated an unwritten and unspoken code.  It was also within the perimeters of that same working class code that Danny would simply call out to the assembled Hoggs -

           
"Are ya all right then!"
 

He was acknowledged by a collective response of nods and smiles and a
"Huh!"
from Uncle Wilfred.  Much to Simeon's relief, individual introductions were unnecessary.  They walked towards the rec' away from the many curious eyes piercing their backs - not least the boring bullet eyes of Aunty Nelly.

They settled on a seat with a magnificent view of many miles out to a Derbyshire expanse of far hills and shades of green they both knew and loved as boys.  And now they
were
boys.  Danny Forrester and Simeon Hogg clung to their special place in that wonderful time-warp of 1960.  They spoke of their mutual friends, the fun they had, the laughs, the time they were kicked out of the Belper Baths by the grouchy attendant for disobedience after warnings, incidents with Mrs Buxcey - lots of hilarious stories about Mrs Buxcey.

           
"We were so innocent."

           
"We were that, Dobba!"

Simeon suddenly felt contempt for the evil speculations and unwanted assumptions of Gary Mackenzie and Detective Sergeant John Winter.

            The reminiscences continued.  During these exchanges there was tacit agreement that the realities of 2003 should not intrude.  On the one side there was marriage, children, much loved grandchildren and the successful career of a skilled plumber in constant demand.  On the other side there was the unspoken significance of no marriage, no children and the mystery of decades in a distant foreign land many miles from the culture and compass of Horsley Woodhouse and Heanor.

            The old repertoire of funnies were re-visited and re-rehearsed - Long John Silver, Omo washing powder and such juvenile bonding devices as -

           
"What's they know about rabbits?"

           
"Enough ta put they in a 'utch!"

Eventually the laughter and happy banter subsided and the conversation took a more serious turn.

           
"Did ya know we lost Titch, Dobba?"

           
"Dead!"

           
"Arr.  It'd be ... what, 'bout ten year back."

           
"Rex?"

           
"Champion!  A long distance lorry driver.  Never changes.  Still full of it.  Barrel o' laughs.  Grand chap.  Good mate."

           
"Scott?"

           
"Done well, Dobba!  Got 'is own buildin' business.  Two great strappin' lads 'elpin' im.  The all live in a big 'ouse."
 

Danny Forrester spoke of his own life style, a large part of which was the social round of public houses in Heanor.  He enjoyed a drink - in fact he enjoyed several drinks and Simeon considered the early significance of the Double Diamond tray.  As various amusing Heanorian anecdotes were trotted out, a comment from Gary was recalled to the effect that, perhaps it was really Simeon Hogg who was the real 'lost lad'.  He had now moved on.   He had moved so very far away from that Heanorian world of which he had once inhabited.  It became clear that there were big differences between the two men who once shared a boyhood friendship.  Notwithstanding, Simeon harboured a huge affection for the man at his side.  Danny Forrester was so real and so genuine.  Danny Forrester was such a total contrast to the artificial and affected parade of ponces he had stomached on and off over the past forty years.

Very gently, Simeon steered the conversation away from Danny's favourite pub to the conundrum of July 24th 1960. 

           
"You must have entertained a few ideas of your own, Danny?"

           
"I expect we all thought it was that bloke 'Ardman, Dobba.  Then there were t'other two.  It didn't say much in t' papers but, well, there were plenty a gossip going round 'eana at that time."

           
"You mean the butler and the gardener?"

           
"A do, Dobba.  A rate couple o' funny buggers!  Well we met t' butler in that deep valley dint we?  Talk about queer!  Bloody 'ell!

           
"Not exactly the sort to be moving in your circles, Danny," 
laughed Simeon.
  "But I'm inclined to think that type is fairly tame ... "

           
"Ooo arr, Dobba.  Ya right.  They'd be gentle.  The might 'av a go, but arr Brian ... well 'e'd see 'em off.  'E would ... "

Danny became pensive and stared out over to Crich.  Simeon reminded him that he and Brian were twins -

           
" ... So did you have any special communication.  Have you any instinctive feelings about what might have happened?"

           
"A know what ya mean, Dobba, but we were never able to read each other's mind or oat like that.  No.  But ... well ... "

           
"Go on."

           
"It's really joost a feelin'.  Av always felt that ... What's 'is name, the son?"

           
"Charles Hardman."

           
"That's 'im!  Writes them spooky books, ya can buy 'em at Shipley Park.  Now 'e was about twelve at the time - joost lost 'is mam - well ya never know do ya?  It might 'av turned 'im a bit funny.  It might be imagination but ... sometimes it's as if arr Brian's tryin' ta tell me summat, Dobba."

           
"Possibly, but it could also be your own good sense putting together a theory.  I really must try to speak to Charles Hardman - in spite of what that awful woman said.  You remember Detective Inspector Derek Russell, the one who was so good to us, well, he tells me that old Hardman never let his son out of his sight for years.  Took him out of a posh school and brought in private tutors until he went away to university."

           
"Could 'av bin protectin' im, Dobba!"

           
"From the law - possibly.  I notice Tonks (the butler) joined the growing chorus of appeals for me to stop investigating.  I must speak
to him as well.  Do you know, Danny, I'm starting to think we could get somewhere with this.  We may yet get to the truth, old friend!"

           
"'Ope so, Dobba, but mind ya self.  Be careful - ya never know."
    

Chapter 29

Ghosts

Gary Mackenzie makes friends very quickly.  He made a new one in Derby who gave him a glowing report about a well known large gay sauna bath at Darlaston near Birmingham.

           
"It sounds just great!  Swimming pool, jacuzzis, steam rooms, gym, cinema, restaurant ...   How about spending the day there?"

But Simeon had already made his plans for this day, Tuesday, April 29th.  From Danny Forrester he had discovered the location of Scott North's current building site, not far away, within an easy cycle ride.  Seeing Gary's face fall, Simeon decided to be generous.

           
"Take the car, but make sure it's parked up safe."

           
"No problem, it has a 'secure car park' - guarded even!"

           
"It had better be."

Never once having been allowed to touch the precious vintage Cadillac, Gary was profuse with further assurances, giving many thanks and made a quick exit with the car keys whilst the going was good.

            The high pressure persisted and warm comforting early afternoon sunshine encouraged the cyclist to push himself eastwards out of Horsley Woodhouse, through Smalley, along the Heanor road to a high point just past Holly Mount Farm where an expensive looking new house was under construction and not far short of completion.  Simeon dismounted and approached with caution and some emotion.  After 43 years he would, once again, behold the one and only - Scott North.  At first he was galvanised by the sight of the two 'strapping lads' Danny had mentioned, both on ladders and both very busy.  One of them noted the somewhat unusual arrival of a man on a bike.  Responding to an enquiry, he told the visitor that he'd find 'the boss' within.  Simeon wandered through a couple of empty rooms before finding the third man looking thoughtfully at a door which was giving trouble.

           
"Scott North?"

           
"That's me,"
was the slightly indifferent and uninterested reply. 
"Can I help you?"
said the builder, still studying his awkward door but giving a split second to note a stranger standing in the hall wearing white shorts and a safety reflector band over his dark track-suit top.  In those initial seconds of reunion Simeon Hogg made a number of interested observations.  He was looking at a man who was exactly his own size.  In 1960 everybody looked up at Scott North the tallest lad at Howitt.  Yet it was recalled that Dobba, Scott, Danny and Brian Forrester were all born within days of each other.  The voice was a surprise.  It still had its confidence, it was still rich, deep, with the same slight lilt of John Wayne, but, on the evidence of one word alone, appeared to have lost some of the local vernacular.  Scott sounded the 'h' in 'help' which was as odd as seeing Danny get out of an expensive car.  On arriving in the United States, the young Simeon Hogg with his thick Derbyshire accent found that he had to learn to sound his H's very quickly when listeners thought he was referring to his bottom, when in fact, he was speaking of his house - not his 'ass'. 

            Then there was the face.  The face of 1960 had been beautiful, indeed, had been stunning.  Here was the face of a stranger who could not be recognised.  The Scott North of 2003 could have passed him in the street with hardly a first look, let alone the second.  The effect was mutual.  Mr North showed little interest in his visitor and no signs of recognition.  Truth to be told, had Simeon not been expecting Danny at Bog Hole, would he have recognised Danny?  But Danny was no Scott and a face which was once greatly alluring - has a long way to fall.