‘How are your legs, Jon?’
‘Still there when I last looked.’
‘Berk! What I meant was are you up for this?’
‘If I wasn’t, Al, I wouldn’t be here.’
They were sitting astride their bikes, sitting astride them and waiting. They’d been there some time now, the edge of their estate the agreed meeting place, the hour of one the agreed time. But though the two of them were there, the others were not, and this rankled a little.
‘Where are they?’ Al said testily. ‘I told them to be here by one this afternoon, not tomorrow morning.’
‘Well, you know what Eddie’s bike is like,’ said Jon. ‘Something’s bound to have fallen off and needed putting back on.’
Al nodded. He knew the truth in that only too well. With no money to buy a bike and no hope of earning any, Eddie had done the next best thing and built one. They’d helped out between them, of course, let him have what parts they could spare and he’d scrounged or stolen the rest. The result, while it would never win the Tour de France, worked well enough. After a fashion. With so many parts from so many sources, things had the habit of working loose, even falling off. There was, Al knew, always something that needed attention…
‘Better do something about those brakes,’ he murmured reflectively.
‘You mean before he kills someone?’ said Jon, hearing him.
‘Or himself.’
They heard a shout, looked up to see two bicycles coasting down the hill towards them. They were slowing, one more quickly than the other, that other accompanied by the sound of much scraping of shoe on tarmac. It scraped right on past them, eventually came to a stop some way down the road. Al watched dispassionately: definitely better do something about those brakes.
‘Hey, that was great!’ said Tony, his face flushed with the thrill of speed. ‘Is it like that all the way to Spike’s?’
‘I hope not,’ said Eddie. He’d wrenched his bike round, was wheeling it back to join his friends. ‘Me mum’s only just bought these trainers.’
‘Relax,’ said Jon, ‘I know this road. Up and down all the way. An’ no down as long or as steep as that one.’
‘Where have you two been?’ said Al. ‘It’s way past one.’
‘Uh…sorry,’ said Tony. ‘That’s me.’
‘Alarm trouble?’
‘No, sister trouble.’
‘You don’t want to hear this,’ said Eddie. ‘He’s told me what happened an’ you do not want to hear it.’
‘Yes we do,’ said Jon. ‘What did you do to her this time?’
‘I left another dog poo on her bed.’
‘Man, are you ever original!’ said Al. ‘Did she fall for it again?’
‘No, she picked it up.’
‘See? You can only fool them once with a trick.’
‘Yeah but this one wasn’t quite the same trick.’
Al said nothing. He could almost see it coming.
‘You see,’ Tony went on, ‘this time, the poo was a real one.’
Silence. They were all staring at him. Even Eddie, who’d heard this ghastly tale already. Then Al was speaking, was giving voice to what they all were thinking.
‘I think we’d better get out of here,’ he said. ‘Brains here just started World War Three.’
They needed no second bidding and were soon rolling, were pedalling like fury away from the familiar housing estate that now seemed to spell certain doom and towards the welcoming unknown of the countryside.
‘Is it far?’ Al puffed as he struggled to keep up.
‘About four miles,’ Jon puffed back.
‘Why are we going so fast?’ Eddie yelled from somewhere behind.
‘Ask him,’ said Jon, nodding ahead. ‘Oi! You with us?’
Tony looked back from his bike. ‘Come on! You want to get there or what?’
‘Slow down!’ Al yelled. ‘We got all day, ain’t we?’
Tony slowed down, gave them the chance to catch up.
‘What’s the matter?’ said Al as he drew level. ‘Afraid she’s gonna magically appear behind us?’
‘You never know with her,’ said Tony.
‘Why?’ said Jon. ‘Has she got a bike?’
‘No, a broomstick.’
They laughed and settled down to an easier pace. The day was fine, with bright blue sky marred only by the odd puff of white, and it was warm. This was not the first time they had been out cycling together. Many a day in the summer holidays had been spent panting up hill and freewheeling down dale, their time their own, their destination often barely considered. It was enough to be out and about and in each other’s company.
‘Hey,’ said Jon, ‘remember the time we rode out to that village an’ found that doctor’s surgery?’
The others grinned: they remembered all right. It was a day much like this one and they’d set out to the south of the town, a previously untried area that begged exploration. They’d stumbled across this village, ridden through it once and found nothing of interest, then ridden through it a second time and still found nothing of interest, and they’d begun to wonder how the people here could possibly survive without a shopping mall to hang about in or a burger joint to eat in.
It was as they were sitting there astride their bikes and discussing this when they saw it, the most curious sight of a traffic cone on the roof of the doctor’s surgery. How it had got there, they didn’t know, but being public spirited, they decided they couldn’t possibly allow it to remain there. So they climbed up onto this roof and retrieved it, and having retrieved it, they discovered something rather interesting about traffic cones: they came in two parts, the inner solid part that keeps it upright and the outer flimsy part that reflects car headlights. And that outer flimsy part, Al quickly discovered, made a rather fetching hat.
So they rode around this village-without-a-burger-joint for a while, Al with his makeshift hat perched on his head like some crazy dunce’s cap. And they would have continued to ride around had it not been for the sudden sight of a police patrol car bearing down on them. Al had no time to remove his dunce’s cap but the car swept past without stopping, the driver just looking at them.
‘It’s okay,’ Tony had said, ‘he ain’t interested in us.’
But he was wrong. The car got to the end of the road and swung round, went past them again…and stopped. Someone in a uniform got out, a uniform that was not entirely unknown to them in their various travels.
‘Afternoon, lads,’ it had said. ‘Out for a bike ride?’
It was an obvious question so they gave the obvious answer. Then the uniform had pointed to Al’s head.
‘Nice hat. Where’d you find it?’
‘Oh, just…somewhere.’
‘So it doesn’t actually belong to you.’
‘Er…no,’ Al had said. ‘I guess not.’
‘Then I suggest you put it back where you found it.’
Put it back, they’d mused when he was gone. Okay. Fine. They went back to the doctor’s surgery, found the rest of the traffic cone, reassembled it and climbed back up onto the roof. It was only as they were making ready to climb back down that they’d noticed a rather familiar uniform looking up at them…
‘Yeah,’ said Al wistfully, ‘that was a good day.’
‘We were lucky, though,’ said Jon. ‘Do you suppose he believed us?’
‘What, when we told him we was only doing what he’d asked us to do? Well, look at it this way, he didn’t exactly arrest us, did he.’
‘No, he didn’t that. Just took our names and addresses and sent us on our way.’
‘I was almost pissing myself for weeks after that,’ said Eddie. ‘Every time someone knocked on our front door, I thought it was the local bill come to pick me up.’
‘Yeah, well,’ said Al, ‘we know better now, don’t we?’
There was a chorus of Yeahs and You bets. Al pushed harder on his pedals.
‘Come on!’ he yelled. ‘I’ll race you!’
Three bicycles
seemed to surge forward in response as they tried to keep up with their leader. They raced down narrow lanes lined with hedgerows, across deserted road junctions without even slowing, panted up one long hill, walked their bikes up the next then reached the summit and stopped. In the valley below lay their destination.
‘We’re there,’ said Jon.
‘About time, too,’ said Tony with feeling.
‘You said it!’ said Al. ‘Last stretch and it’s downhill all the way. Let’s go.’
They went, racing down that long gentle hill and into the village, past the thatched cottages and wooden fences, past the rose gardens and ivy-covered trees. And there, standing by the village green, was Spike. They swung into line, one behind the other, and coasted in to a perfect stop before him. Except, of course, Eddie who sailed past and dragged to a halt just short of the village pond.
‘You made it!’ said Spike, genuinely pleased to see them. ‘And all that way!’
‘No distance,’ said Al, climbing off his saddle. ‘Nothing compared to what we’ve done in the past.’
‘Well, I’m delighted you’re here. Did you have a good journey?’
‘Had worse,’ He glanced round at the village lining the green, at picture-perfect cottages and a total lack of movement. ‘Quiet, ain’t it?’
‘It is that. Sometimes a little too quiet.’
‘I believe it,’ said Al. ‘So where are your friends, the ones you wanted us to meet?’
‘Oh, they’ll be along presently. I sent them off to the village shop to stock up on food and drink.’
‘Food and drink,’ Eddie repeated, wheeling his bike back from the pond. ‘Any burgers?’
‘Sorry, only cake and Coke. Will that do?’
‘Ignore him,’ said Al. ‘Of course it’ll do.’
He shivered as he finished speaking, glanced over his shoulder. But there was nothing there. Nothing but silence and stillness. It certainly was quiet here. And he wasn’t used to it.
‘So what are we gonna do this afternoon?’ he said, dragging his gaze back.
‘Do?’ said Spike. ‘Well, I hadn’t actually thought we’d do anything. It’s a pleasant afternoon, we have sustenance on its way—why don’t we just sit and talk? I mean, we don’t actually have to do anything, do we?’
‘Sounds good to me,’ said Tony, lying back and stretching out luxuriously on the grass.
‘I’m with the brother,’ said Jon. Eddie just shrugged and went to join them. Al shook his head.
‘I can’t handle this,’ he said. ‘I mean, when we’re in town, there’s loads of stuff to do.’
‘Most of which one has to pay for,’ said Spike. ‘And the only reason it’s provided for you is because someone is after your money. Believe me, there’s no altruism in the entertainment industry.’
‘I can dig that,’ said Jon, lying flat on his back to take the sun. ‘Come on, Al, it’ll be good to do something that don’t involve games arcades.’
‘Yeah, I guess so.’ He slumped down on the grass. ‘It’ll be a change not having burgers, too, I guess.’
‘But I like burgers,’ Eddie grumbled softly.
‘Well, you got cake instead,’ said Al. He looked up at Spike. ‘Where have your friends got to?’
Spike didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. Strolling down the road towards them were three figures, all about their age and all laden with what seemed to be half the stock of the village shop.
‘Uh…who’s paying for this little lot?’ said Al uncertainly.
‘Oh, we all chipped in,’ said Spike lightly. ‘As our guests, you must allow us to treat you.’
It was an offer they simply couldn’t refuse, not least because none of them had thought to bring any money along with them.
The three newcomers joined them. Introductions were made, hands pumped all round. There was Craig, Andrew (Andy, please) and Geoff. Each of them spoke with that same refined cadence the gang had come to know so well. But if they were expecting airs and a sense of aloofness, they were to be pleasantly surprised. The three of them just sat down and began handing out food and drink, and Al quickly found he was just one of eight guys out for a picnic, talking about things in general, nothing in particular. And it seemed he was in for something of a shock…
‘Your dad’s a what?’
‘A Refuse Collection Operative,’ said Andy. ‘Don’t tell me you’ve never heard the term before.’
He hadn’t and he couldn’t somehow bring himself to admit that he hadn’t. Then he noticed Spike grinning broadly and something seemed to click inside.
‘Ah, this is a wind-up—right?’
‘Not at all,’ said Spike. ‘Andy’s dad is just what Andy says he is, a Refuse Collection Operative—dustman to you and me.’
He swung round, startled. ‘You’re joking! You go to a private school and your dad’s a dustman?’
‘Absolutely. He wanted me to have a good education so he decided I was going to have one.’
Al let go a low whistle. ‘It must be costing him a fortune.’
‘A pretty penny, I’ll grant. But my mother also works and they live simply—council house in town, no car, no holidays—so they manage.’
‘Obviously.’
For all his experience of the world so far, this was something new to him. He looked across at Eddie listening in rapt awe to Craig while ploughing through his second steak-and-kidney pie of the afternoon, and he wondered about his parents. His father a more frequent visitor to the pub than the Job Centre. His mother cold and unfeeling, there to provide meals but little else. And here was this dustman, with all his pride and dignity channelled into one noble end, that of working his hardest to give his only son the very best start in life he possibly could. It wasn’t right: his friend deserved more. Come to that, probably a lot of kids deserved more, but with parents like Eddie’s around, they would not be getting it. There was, it seemed to his young mind, no justice in the world…
He dragged himself back to reality, glanced sheepishly at Andy.
‘So why the Refuse Collection Operative bit?’ he said. ‘Why not just tell me he’s a dustman?’
Andy laughed. ‘It’s what the council like to call him. That is, believe it or not, his official job title.’
‘Weird.’
‘Weird but not unknown,’ said Spike. ‘It seems to be endemic in adults, making oneself out to be more than one actually is.’
‘You said it,’ said Al. ‘Why do they do it, do you suppose?’
‘Wish I knew,’ said Andy. ‘Craig’s father is a bit like that.’
Hearing his name, Craig looked up. ‘Someone call?’
‘Your father,’ said Spike. ‘What does he do?’
‘He’s actually a Quantity Surveyor but that’s not what he does. He’s in management and likes to let everyone know it.’
‘You don’t sound too impressed,’ said Al.
‘I’m not. He spends more time at his golf club than he does at home, he bullies my mother into going to dinner parties with company cronies she can’t stand, and he insists I associate with only the “right” people—whoever they might be.’
‘Right,’ said Al. ‘Is he really as bad as you say?’
‘Absolutely. You only have to watch him to see that. At home, in his office, on the road—he has to be in charge, has to let everyone know he’s in charge. But I know for a fact that no one takes a blind bit of notice of him.’
‘No one?’ said Al.
‘No one,’ said Craig. ‘Even his so-called friends look at him and think What a jerk! When it comes down to it, and he just won’t see this, the only person my father is impressing is himself.’
They laughed grimly. Al said nothing: the mood was getting a little morbid for his liking.
‘Anyone know any good jokes?’ he said brightly.
‘Yeah, me,’ said Tony. ‘Have you heard the one about…’
And so it went on, well into the afternoon, trading jokes and laughter, backgrounds and dream
s. It was only when the shadows began to lengthen and after another trip to the village shop for more supplies that Al thought they ought to be taking their leave.
‘Well, I’ve got to say,’ he said as he swung back into his saddle, ‘this has been the best afternoon we’ve had in a long time.’
‘Glad you enjoyed it,’ said Spike. ‘I know we did.’
‘I’d like to second that,’ said Andy. ‘If nothing more, we have a few new jokes to tell.’
‘Even a few new dirty jokes to tell,’ Craig added, and they laughed again.
‘Have a good journey back,’ said Spike. ‘See you Monday.’
‘See you then,’ said Al. ‘See the rest of you guys some time, too.’
They pedalled away to a chorus of goodbyes, each of them feeling they had somehow participated in their own version of an exchange visit. They had laughed a lot and learned a lot more, and somehow, they would never look at the world in quite the same way again. And more importantly than all of that, they’d found that you don’t need games arcades and burger joints in order to have a good time. Sometimes, all you need around you is a long afternoon and a few good friends…
ELEVEN