Lost Lad (30 page)

"A bit early aren't ya?  'Ow long for this time?"
  said Edna, a somewhat truculent and sharp tongued wife of a cousin who, for reasons best known to herself, always addressed Simeon in a hostile tone.  The question gave an opportunity to speak of his recent retirement and the plan to discover the location of Brian Forrester.  This information, once imparted and absorbed, changed the humorous tone and left a slightly constrained silence which was interpreted by Gary as privileged local knowledge, possibly dangerous knowledge.  The silence was broken by a young woman who was sharing an ottoman with a skinny vacant looking girl.

           
"Well, it'll be nice ta know after all these years, wunt it, if ya can find oat out.  A mean it's nice ta know t' truth in tit, Aunty Gertie?"

But, like Aunty Joyce, Aunty Gertie was not inclined to agree -

           
"Truth can be too bloody close ta om
[home],
then it's not so bloody nice, arr Lilly."

These proceedings were interrupted by the door opening.  In came an attractive blond girl, Sara Hogg the great-granddaughter.  Just behind and much bigger, big with child, was the notorious Kelly Grocock.  Sara gave Simeon his annual greeting which seldom varied from -

           
"Ey oop, Yanks are 'ere!  Art all rate, arr Simeon?"

Just as Gary had problems with effeminate men, so did his friend have an aversion to working class teenage girls. Especially such an unpolished, uncultured example as the smug, if rather plain freckled slag who now stood before him.  Instinctively, Simeon feared unkind comments from an unrestrained acid tongue.  Kelly examined him curiously with her typical, over-long feminine leer.  He felt vulnerable.  This was not his classroom and no threat of punishment was available for protection.  However, as usual, all went well. 

            After cursory introductions and a brief banter of good natured cut and thrust, Aunty Gertie launched into a stinging attack on the state of Sara's new trendy hair style -

           
"Eee, arr Sara!  Bloody 'ell!  Just look at thee.  Thay looks a bogga abaht t' 'ead!" 
[about your head]

           
"Wot ya mean?  Ave paid a lot a mooney fa this!"

           
"Ya could a saved it.  It ad looked like that fost thing in t' mornin'!  Get shut a thee comb.  It 'll save thee plenty a mooney it will!"

When the roar of laughter died down, it became clear that Aunty Gertie (a virtuous woman from the 'old school', not renowned for her gentle tact) was receiving Kelly for the first time since the sensational news of her recent, and now all too apparent activities with the tearaway Wayne Pickles.  Gertie laid in with a rhetorical -

           
"Wot the bloody 'ell 'ave you bin doin' then?"

           
"'E run me round rec."

           
"We 'n all see that bogga!  Chasin' dunt mek ya pregnant?"

           
"Arr - but 'e catched me!"

This last reduced the two girls to a fit of giggles.  Aunty Gertie shook her head and continued with a long reprimand which included harrowing accounts of punishments meted out to hapless girls of her own generation who 'got into trouble'.  It was during this censure that Simeon felt a gentle nudge from Gary's knee, the signal that he had had enough of 'the relations'.  It was time to give thanks for tea, make civil apologies and move on.

"
NO WAY!
  I can't take any more.  No more visiting.  I'm tired.  I want to go to bed.  Enough relatives for one day."

           
"Aw come on, Gary!  It's not late.  Anyway, these two aren't relations. The Ducks are nice people.  Just a few minutes to say Hi.  They expect it.  They'll be very hurt if I leave it until tomorrow.  I always visit the Ducks after Aunty Gertie."

           
"More freaks, if they're called 'the Ducks', they'll be freaks.  I know it.  I can feel it!"
  Gary wheeled angrily around on Simeon and fixed him in the eye. 
"I know you of old!  You're just trying to annoy me - aren't you?  Admit it!  Who, for God's sake are the Ducks?  Is that their real name?"

This last gave the mischievous friend something to think about.  A simple question - but Simeon had no answer.  It had always been Duck and Mrs Duck as long as he could remember.  She referred to him as
'Arr Dook'
and he referred to her as
'Arr Mam'
.  They referred to everybody else as
'dook'
. 

           
"Yes, dook, no, dook, shall ya 'ave a coop o' tea, dook?"

The end of terrace house of number six Bog Hole had always been called 'The Duckery' because the Ducks had always lived there.  True, there was a duck pond in the garden but Simeon did not think that was the main reason for their name.  How strange, he had never until this moment considered what their real names might be.  He explained to his friend that, as a toddler, the Ducks were very kind to him.  They took time and trouble to entertain him with cut up cardboard boxes and ... yes, porcelain ducks.  Duck was very imaginative with any household materials and paint.  He delighted little Simeon with model houses for the pot ducks, all of whom had their own names.  The Ducks gave Simeon the most precious gift any lonely child can receive, they gave him time.  Aunty Gertie was often busy with her large family but Duck and Mrs Duck talked to Simeon and gave him their full attention.  That house was full of love.  The Ducks were special.  Somewhat unwillingly, Gary listened to this with growing curiosity.

           
"Was there ever a Mr Duck?"

Again the question took him by surprise!  As far back as Simeon could remember there had been just Duck and Mrs Duck, never a Mr Duck ... but ... a glimmer, a distant fragment of a picture came back to him.

           
"Do you know, Gary, many years ago they used to be visited by a robin!  A little robin used to hop on to the window sill.  Duck would say -

           
'Ey oop, Arr Mam, look - it's me dad, it's me dad coom back.'"

           
"Oh no!"
  said Gary gloomily, bracing himself for an imminent visit to The Duckery.

No knocking, they just walked in.  The Englishman and the American had different impressions.  The latter saw two large eggs.   The eggs with faces were deeply reposing into a cosy sofa and Gary had formed the impression that they had been sitting there for ever.  Each face was wearing an irritating inane grin which Simeon would have described as a smile of welcome.  Both fat faces were devoid of a single wrinkle which caused Gary to wonder how old they were, but, there again, his friend could not have given an answer.  Duck had never changed.  He had always looked the same.  He was just ... Duck.  The smaller 'Mam' egg cocked up her legs which could not quite reach the floor and spoke first.

           
"Eee it is nice ta see thee, dook.  Are ya all right then, dook?"

The Duck egg appeared to do a quick funny wriggle and with dancing shoulders -

           
"Bit early aren't ya, dook?  Ya don't usually come before t' buddleia."
 

The strong scented lilac flowered buddleia sprouted all over Bog Hole from mid July onwards.  It flourished in gardens, waste ground, any odd corner and shot out of cracks in the pavement.  Even Duck's chimney stack sported an excellent specimen and he had always associated the flower with the annual arrival of the child he once entertained.

           
"Shall ya ave a coop a tea, dook?  Will ya friend ave one?  Put kettle on, Arr Mam."

           
"No, Dook.  Ave joost sat down.  You put kettle on shall ya, Arr Dook."

           
"All right, Arr Mam, I'll put kettle on."

Inwardly Gary Mackenzie groaned at the thought of more tea but, on completion of introductions, he made a supreme effort to be sociable and communicate with the Ducks.  He noted the former toys of his friend, the collection of ornamental ducks and complimented the living room.

           
"You've made it really nice here.  So very cosy and comfortable."

In keeping with the general character of Bog Hole, The Duckery was fixed somewhere inside a time warp, in this case possibly mid 1930's.  Cosy and comfortable were apt terms here.  Everything was soft and cushy.  In contrast to the spiky Aunty Gertie, the conversation in this room was all ductility, well matched to the occupants, mild and downy.  It had always been a great place for Simeon Hogg.  In this old fashioned feathery room he had always been cushioned from the hard knocks of life.  Nothing nasty or hurtful ever came from Duck, friendly podgy Duck, ever mellow and mellifluous.  At worst, on the occasions in which he did criticise, he would begin with his characteristic wiggle, dancing shoulders and the one word - 'Meself'  Like now, regarding the subject of Annie Oaks and her pricing policy -

           
"Meself, a think she's a bit dear.  Don't ya think so, Arr Mam."

           
"She is, Arr Duck!  Them eggs were five pence cheaper int' village.  She teks advantage.  She knows a can't walk far."

The conversation continued to touch on similar inanities which included the thoughtless Vivienne whose bouncing ball often annoyed 'Arr Mam', a dripping tap which Fred Hogg had promised to fix last month and an unpleasant character in a popular 'soap' who was -

           
"Nasty!  Is really nasty.  No need ta be like that.  It's oopset Arr Dook, 'e 'as, ant 'e, Arr Dook?"

As expected these trifles irritated Gary Mackenzie to distraction.  Concerns about a person on television who does not exist and an endless stream of minutia caused him to give Simeon an angry glance which said -
'For God's sake rescue me from this!'
  Gary was missing the sophisticated stimulation of the dishy BBC producer he had recently met in London -

           
"Simeon you
have
to meet him!  Incredible background!  He was an equity funds lawyer based in the Cayman Islands.  He has an apartment in Mayfair to die for, speaks of friends in Hong Kong and owns a motor cruiser on the Thames.  Super intelligent conversation!"

Naughty Simeon knew he was mixing an explosive chemistry by introducing Gary Mackenzie to the trivial and spongy world of The Ducks in which the conversation was somewhat less than 'super intelligent'.  Simeon had no wish to meet Gary's new friend.  He saw the Ducks differently: they were warm and generous: they were non-contentious and undemanding.  He found the quaint chatter balmy and mildly entertaining.  He was always happy in The Duckery - but Gary had a face of thunder and now was the time to leave - and leave quickly!  

Chapter 25

The Hustler, the Pimp and the Murderer

Dozy tired eyes, unwillingly, gradually, opened early the next morning.  Slowly they focused on a clear blue sky: bright blue, happy blue.  Simeon's mattress and his head was always situated just under the sash window, always open to the maximum extent when he was resident at Horsley Woodhouse.  He was very comfortable, so very cosy tucked up under numerous good quality blankets, some of which dated back nearly 100 years.  His body was warm, but a cold face gladly gazed out into that magnificent firmament and watched two black specs, very far away, involved in some sort of aerial ballet.  Two large birds, way up high were circling, soaring, tumbling, falling, catching the wind and stabilising - just playing.  They were enjoying their freedom, enjoying their life. 
"Two for joy!"
 

            Simeon's heart leapt for joy as he remembered and realised that beautiful and total reality that he, yes, he too was now free.  No more yobs to be disciplined.  No more slags to be reprimanded.  No more scumbags to be tolerated.  No more progressive colleagues would ever taunt, needle or control him and no more left-wingers would ever infuriate him with -

           
"Cheer up, Simeon!  You look so miserable.  It can't be as bad as that."

The crows were now calling to each other.  Their raucous caws blended with other reassuring nostalgic sounds.  He was comforted by singing blackbirds, a crowing cockerel and mooing cows from a nearby farm.  A distant man called out a greeting to another -
"Ey oop, Jack, art rate!"
  It was all as it should be.  He was home and safe.  He was all right.