Chapter Eleven
Chalk and Cheese, November 1982
When Tony walked into the office the next morning Angela handed him a note. It was from Reece Jones. He had two kids he wanted to talk to Tony about. Tony added them up and realised this would make thirty four trainees and that as he might not be here in a few weeks he should think twice about taking on any more. He picked up the phone and rang Reece. He agreed to be in his office in ten minutes. On the way out he left the details of where to find him with Angela and walked round to the Social Services office.
Reece looked as tired as ever, but he smiled and offered Tony a cup of coffee. It came from the same kind of machine as the one that had been in the canteen at Grunwold Pumps and Tony politely refused. He took a seat at the side of Reece’s desk and waited. Reece was sorting through some papers on his desk and not finding what he was looking for. His desk was barely visible under the paperwork.
“You look as if you have got your hands full this morning, Reece. Do you want me to come back this afternoon?”
Reece looked up.
“I doubt that would help Tony, I will probably have even more by then.”
“Bad week, is it?”
Reece continued without stopping his search.
"Bad week, bad month, bad year.”
He sounded at the end of his tether and his lilting Welsh accent was stronger than normal. Tony leaned over the desk and put a hand on his arm to get his full attention.
“Just tell me about the kids, Reece, and we will worry about the paperwork afterwards.”
“OK.”
Reece gave up the search and sat back, He picked up his coffee cup from the desk and took a swallow. He grimaced. Tony knew the feeling. Reece turned his swivel chair towards him and started.
“The two kids I have got for you are as different as chalk and cheese. The first one I told you about you have met, but his father prevented him from coming back after the last time. You remember, the one who accused me of exploiting his child for the good of some rich golf playing Conservatives?”
Tony remembered. The man was very intelligent according to Reece, but preferred not to work for his living. He was a Welshman and it hurt Reece to admit to an Englishman that a fellow national was such a waste of space. Tony had told him of a few English locals who were equally as bad, but that had not consoled him. Tony had put the kid down the golf course with the green keeper, but that had been a mistake. Two of the other kids had teased him unmercifully and the poor little sod was not capable of handling it. His father had found out and delighted in going round to Reece’s office and causing a stink. Tony nodded.
“Wayne Davis.”
Of his thirty odd kids five of them were called Wayne. It often made Tony wonder how the kids themselves sorted it out. Go into any classroom and shout Wayne and at least four kids would answer.
“Well he has changed his mind, the father that is, but only because the Job Centre said it was YOP for the lad or he would lose his dole money. That was a bit of a shock and he now agrees we can try another placement, but he wants to meet you first. He says he is not handing over his Wayne to some professional child exploiter.” He sighed. “You don’t have to do it if you don’t want to, Tony. I know it is beyond and above so to speak.”
Tony stared at the tired Welshman.
“How many cases have you got running at the moment, Reece?”
“Eighty Four.”
He suddenly sat up straight and Tony knew he regretted the weak moment of tiredness that had made him give Tony an answer.
“Shit”, said Tony, “eighty four? Christ Reece, how do you manage it? Eighty bloody four?”
Reece gave him a tired smile.
“Its not so bad normally, Tony. At the moment I have several playing up at once. That is why I called you.”
He shrugged apologetically. Tony held both hands up in a gesture of surrender. He could not imagine handling that many different types of cases with all the legal difficulties and responsibilities they involved and the press willing to take you apart at the first sign of a mistake. He felt like a fraud with his thirty eight kids.
“Don’t you apologise to me mate. I don’t know how you manage it. Give me the address of this caring parent and I will call round when I leave here.”
Reece suddenly found what he had been looking for when Tony came in. He picked up the file, opened it, copied down an address on a piece of paper, and handed it over. Tony read it. 86, Charleston Gardens. It was on one of the council estates at the back of the town, but it would be very hard to keep up mortgage payments on a private house if you spent half of your time in prison. He tucked it in his pocket.
“What about the second kid?”
Eighty-four cases? He was really eager to help this poor beggar in any way he could. Reece sat back, picked up the coffee, looked at it and put it back down. He frowned slightly.
“Do you know Frederick’s Transport? They are based here in Weston and you often see their lorries about.”
“Are they the red ones with a charging goat motif?”
You could not forget those lorries if you had seen one. The charging goat painted on the doors was a fearsome creature. Reece nodded and smiled.
“Yes, and very appropriate it is as well for a couple of reasons. Firstly the family have been in the business for some fifty years. The grandfather started it forty years ago, he had four wives and six kids so he was a bit of a ram I suppose. The eldest son took the company over after the old man died after a brawl in a pub, he was sixty at the time, but they are that kind of family. Why talk to someone when you can punch him?
The eldest son was another hard man and he expanded the business so that it was more than just a local firm. He brought it up to forty odd vehicles at its peak. Then he too died in strange circumstances.” He shrugged. “It was supposedly an accident. A load fell from a forklift truck and killed him. That was six years ago. His own eldest son was driving the forklift at the time so the rumour mill started the story that he had killed his old man to get his hands on the business. God knows he also had a reputation for violence. Even the local rugby club had to let him go because he caused such mayhem on field with late tackles and crafty punches and gouges and the like. Anyway Georgie, that is the son’s name, had two bothers. The first was a couple of years younger than him and he too worked for the firm. The youngest was what is usually called an afterthought and is just seventeen now.”
He stopped for a minute and then carried on.
“You have to know all this as it is local history anyway and I want to be straight with you. The first thing that Georgie did was fire the older of the two brothers and chuck him out of the company so he had no challengers. He now drives for some outfit in Bristol. He also ran the company on a different line from his dad who, although he liked a punch up down the pub, was hard, but fair with his drivers. If anyone argued with Georgie or made a mistake he just thumps them, or did.”
He shrugged again.
“He is not a tall man, but he is as broad as he is tall and has a really nasty streak. It is rumoured that he pulled a lot a dirty little trick to steal business from his rivals and was not above the sabotage of their vehicles.”
Tony held up his hand.
“I hope you are not telling me that I have to make a house visit to this bloke.”
Reece smiled.
“No Tony, but you would be safe enough if you did. Two years ago Georgie was coming out of his local rather the worse for wear when he was run down by a pickup truck which was later was found to have been stolen in Bristol earlier the same night. His back was broken and he now runs the business from a wheelchair. He is still a nasty bit of work, but no longer capable of inflicting any physical damage himself.”
He picked another file up.
“This is Kevin Fredericks, the youngest of the brothers and he is the one I want you to talk to. I have known Kevin since he was thirteen. When his dad was killed and his brother took over the business, his mo
ther did a runner to Spain with one of the drivers she had known for years and Kevin was parentless. That was when I got involved and he lives with his aunt now. He is a really good kid which makes it all the more difficult to know how he got mixed up in this?”
“Mixed up in what, Reece?”
“Brawling in a pub.”
Tony raised his eyebrows. It sounded as if the kid was just following his genes, but he didn’t say that.
“Lots of teenagers get into fights, Reece. For most of us it is part of growing up.”
Reece’s look told him it was a bit more serious than that. Tony sighed.
“OK Reece. Just tell me what he did.”
“Well, he and some of his mates were playing pool in his local pub last Friday week. They go there every Friday, have a couple of pints, and play pool.” He glanced up. “Yes I know he is under age, but you now how it is. Anyway, a soldier in uniform came in with a couple of his mates in civvies. They had downed a few somewhere else before they got there and were already pretty drunk. Anyway, they decided they wanted the pool table so they told Kevin and his mates to, well, in Kevin’s words they told them to Piss Off. Kevin said no and the bloke in uniform chinned him.”
He turned his eyes to Tony.
“Kevin got up still holding his cue and smashed it round his head hard enough that it broke the cue. They had to call an ambulance.”
He shrugged. Tony thought a moment.
“The soldier started it, yes?”
Reece nodded.
“And Kevin hit him back with the first thing that came to hand, yes?”
Another nod.
“How bad was he hurt?”
Reece looked at the paper in front of him.
“Fractured jaw and concussion. He was released the next morning.”
“Who decided to prosecute them?”
“Not them, him. They only took Kevin to court.”
“Why? They were both involved and the other, older bloke, a professional soldier, started it.”
Reece wriggled a bit in his seat before answering.
“The other bloke was a Royal Marine just back from the Falklands. He had been decorated for bravery to boot. A real hero.” He said the next bit really quietly. “And Kevin was the bloke who head butted the police sergeant and broke his nose.”
There was silence for several seconds while Tony digested this, then.
“He broke the police sergeant's nose with a head butt?”
“Yes.”
Tony suddenly thought of something.
“Why are you involved in this, Reece? This should be coming from the law or Probation, not you.”
Reece shrugged again.
“I like the kid Tony, and I think he has had a rough time of it. Jade Meadows, his Probation Officer, is new and is not yet ready for this in my view, so I told her I would talk to you first.”
“Eighty-four cases and you are getting involved in this as well.” Tony sighed. “OK Reece, I will go and talk to what’s her name?”
“Jade Meadows.”
“OK Give me her phone number.”
“It’s the local Probation Office.”
Tony stood and so did Reece. They shook hands. Tony went to turn for the door and then stopped.
“You are a good bloke Reece and they are lucky to have you, but if you burn out by taking too much on you will be helping no one. You could have just given this Jade my number.”
Reece nodded.
“But then I would not have been sure you would take him unless you knew some one thought him worth the effort.”
Tony looked directly at him.
“They are all worth the effort, Reece. At least until they prove differently. See you soon.”
He left.
Eighty-six Charleston Gardens was in the middle of one of Weston-Super-Mare’s two large council estates. As soon as he entered it Tony was filled with a sense of nostalgia for his childhood. Houses in blocks of four all covered in pebbledash. The only difference here was that these houses had an alleyway through the centre of each block so that so the middle two tenants could get access to the back doors without having to walk past the kitchen windows of the neighbours. In Tony's street to get to the back door you had to go right through the house or up your neighbours path and past their back door. The fences were even the same and Tony remembered how they had always used four of the front gates as the bases for a game of rounders played with an old tennis ball and a piece of two by two that someone’s dad had chiselled the corners from and rounded out one end for a handle. He was eighteen before he found out tennis balls should be white not grey.
The streetlights were even the same. They had originally been gas lamps and had been converted to electricity. They all had the cross piece under the glass lamp holder for the lamp lighter man to lean his ladder on. He smiled. When he was a kid the bin men, known as dustmen then for some reason, would also clean up any rubbish the kids had left in the street. On one particular day there was an old bicycle tyre on the pavement around one of the lamps. It had got there because the night before they had had a competition to see who would be the first to get it over the lamp in one throw. It had been left there when one of the kids had finally managed it and they had all gone home. The chalk line that had been the throw line was still on the road.
The bin men had looked at this tyre and scratched their heads. One of them tried to throw it up back over the lamp holder, but the crosspiece defied his efforts. Then two of them had tried shouting one, two, three HUP and throwing it together with one on each side. This had failed as well. Twenty minutes had gone by and there were by now about a dozen of the local kids sitting on the kerb at a safe distance laughing hysterically and calling out advice. The bin men were not seeing the funny side of it at all and were muttering dark threats about what they would do to the little bastard who had put the tyre there in the first place.
Finally the driver, who had been spending the time reading a newspaper, left his cab. This was quite an earthshaking event as nobody, including any of the bin men, had ever seen the driver of a dustcart leave his cab except to get a cup of tea at the café or to take a leak. The driver walked up to the lamppost and examined it. He then looked up at the lamp head and the cross piece for some time. Then he called the other three over and spoke to them for a few minutes before getting back into his cab. The kids stopped giggling, wiped the tears from their eyes and awaited developments. The driver started the engine and backed one rear wheel of the dustcart on to the pavement. One of the bin men waved him back until the rear of the lorry was some six inches from the lamppost. The man who had been seeing the lorry back climbed up the ladder on the rear of the lorry until he was just about two thirds of the way up the lamp post. He nodded to the other two who stood each side of the lamppost and lifted the bicycle tyre to head height. The man on the ladder then easily lifted the tyre past the crosspiece and over the lamp holder and threw it into the interior of the dustcart. Cabaret over. The other dustmen went back to collecting the bins and emptying them into the lorry.
The kids were disappointed the show was over, but not yet finished. The following week the lorry came around the corner at the top of the road and stopped at the first houses. They all stared in disbelief. Every lamppost had a tyre over it and some had two. There were no kids in sight, but giggles from behind the different garden hedges could be clearly heard. It took the bin men one hour to clear the tyres and empty the bins all the time threatening in loud voices what they would do to those “bloody kids” when they caught them.
One week later the dustcart again came round the corner at the top of the road and once again every lamppost was dressed in a tyre or two. It had taken the kids all week to find them from various dumps, sheds and other places. They were all behind the hedges waiting for the fun to start, but it was not to be, this time. One of the bin men went to the cab of the lorry and opened the door. He reached in and came out with a pair of bolt cutters, which he waved triumphantly in t
he air. He walked up to the first tyre and easily cut through it. He waved it at them.
“Not this time you little buggers.”
The game was over.
Tony grinned at the memory and drove slowly along the road looking for number eighty-six. The estate was just as he remembered his own. Some of the front gardens were beautifully maintained, full of flowers and shrubs and manicured lawns, some were just tidy, some were vegetable plots and some were jungles. He saw one that had grass and other vegetation higher than the fence and his heart sank. That had to be eighty-six. He checked the number next door as the jungle had no gate, just a gap where it had been. Eighty-six. He sighed and closed the Webasto sunroof on the old dark green MGB.
He went to the boot and got out the steering lock he kept there, fitted it and made sure both doors were also locked. The car had cost him six hundred pounds when he had bought it from a woman whose son had been killed while on active service in Germany. His helicopter had crashed while on a routine training mission. She had charged him about half of what it was worth after putting him through an oral examination of why he wanted the car and satisfied with that, had extracted a promise that he would not sell it for at least two years. Tony had felt honoured that she had trusted and believed him and nothing would have parted him from the MGB. He had spent another couple of hundred having the wheels and bumpers and grill re-chromed and had then taken it back to the bereaved mother for her approval. She had cried and hugged him.
He walked up the front path and knocked on the door. The man who opened the door was dressed in a pair of old sandals and plimsolls without socks. He had a black beard streaked with grey that needed a trim, long hair down past his shoulders and deep set eyes under black brows. He was a Celt from his toes to his scalp. Over one nipple he had the word Mild tattooed and over the other one, Bitter. From the poor quality of the tattoos, a professional had done neither; Tony surmised they were prison art. He looked Tony up and down, taking in his suit and went to close the door again. Tony put his foot in the door. The looked down at his foot and then indicated behind Tony with a jerk of his head.
“Look at the garden, will you. What the hell do you think you have that we can afford to buy?”
Tony held his hands up showing his empty palms.
“I am not selling Mr Davis. I am here to talk to you about getting your son Wayne into a work placement. I’m Tony Filton.”
He handed the man his card and waited while he read it. Davis took his time and then turned it over and glanced at the back.
“You must make a lot of money exploiting our kids if you can afford fancy cards like this.”
The Welsh accent was so strong that Tony thought it must have been being done deliberately. The man had been in England for at least three decades. He took the card back from the man’s hand. He paid for these out of his own pocket and he was damned if he was going to waste one of a Pratt like Davis. He realised that he did not know the man’s first name, but that didn’t matter. Better to keep it formal with this one. He put the card back in his pocket ignoring the man’s comment and went on the attack.
“Reece Jones tells me that you need to get your son on the Youth Employment Scheme as the Dole Office are about to cut his benefits. Mainly I understand because you pulled him out of the golf club placement.”
This was unfair because the kid was being bullied there, but Tony had met a lot of people like Davis and being fair was not in their nature so you were best to treat them the same way. Davis bristled and went to say something, but Tony beat him to it. He pointed next door where the neighbour had suddenly appeared in the garden to examine his already perfectly pruned roses. Davis glowered at his neighbour and then opened the door and let him in.
Tony had been in a lot of council houses having been born in one. Even so he was shocked. The front door led into the hall and a set of uncarpeted stairs. Davis opened the door into the front room or lounge. It had one bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. There was one old armchair with the stuffing hanging out at various places, a paraffin heater, the room stank of paraffin, a kitchen chair and a packing crate with a black and white television stood on top of it. There were no curtains or any other furniture in the room. On the kitchen chair watching the television was a tiny male figure who looked no more than twelve. Wayne Davis. Davis senior sat down in the armchair and looked up at Tony. He made no attempt to turn the television down or off.
“So what have you come to tell me?”
After more than three months of Cheryl Baxter’s stupid games Tony found his previous well of patience no longer existed. He went over to the television, examined the control panel and switched it off. Davis looked surprised.
“As this affects Wayne far more than you I think he should hear this as well. He can go back to Jackanory when we have finished. OK”
Davis went to lean forward and switch the set on again.
“You do that Mr Davis and I am out of here. I do not work for Social Services and I do not have to put up with the shit they do. You want to hear what I have to offer or not? If its yes leave the bloody television off for ten minutes, if its no switch it back on and I will tell Social and the Job Centre you were not interested.”
Davis gave him a thunderous look, but he had taken the message on board as he sat back and folded his arms. It was freezing in the room despite the use of the paraffin heater and how he sat there shirtless, was way beyond Tony’s understanding. Tony continued, but this time speaking to Wayne.
“You like gardening, Wayne? I have a small nursery in town that needs some help. The owner needs a hand and is looking for someone who wants to be a gardener. It would just be you and him. No other kids. Are you interested?”
Wayne looked interested, but looked at his father. Davis senior smiled to show Tony that the kid would do what he told him to do. Tony turned his attention back to Davis Senior.
“I can take him down now if you like for an interview. If all goes well he can start tomorrow morning and I will sign him on as though he started this morning so he will get a full weeks pay on Friday.”
This was cheating and bribery and Tony knew it, but technically he could defend it. If the kid went for interview today it could justify it as his first days work. Wayne looked at his dad. Davis knew he had no choice.
“Better go and get your jacket.”
Tony stood.
“Thank you, Mr Davis that is a good decision. The other thing that would help is if you do not start visiting Wayne at work. I understand you used to do that at the golf course and that probably led to the other lads picking on him. I will monitor him closely for the first few days so he will be alright.”
Davis, ignoring him leaned forward and turned on the television and the interview was over. Wayne came back into the room with his jacket and they left the house. His MGB was where he had left it and was unharmed. Wayne was staring at it with his mouth open.
“Are we going in that?”
“Yes”
Wayne beamed and climbed into the car.
The small nursery Tony had chosen was right in the middle of town. It invisible to all intents and purpose as it was in the middle of a block formed by two roads of shops and two more roads of housing. There was an entrance between two of the shops just big enough to drive a van into. Once through the entrance there was a small storeroom and office, while an enormous green house filled the rest of the space. The two streets of houses had quite long gardens on the southern and western sides so the place got plenty of light for plant growing which was mainly cash crops such as tomatoes and cucumbers. John Bingham, the owner was a widower in his sixties who ran the place all on his own since his wife had died. If he had not approached them, Tony would never have suspected the existence of the place never mind using it as a placement. Once he had met John, however, he knew this would be a perfect placement for one of his slower and less able kids, one of the Sad in fact.
He called out and John appeared from behind some foliage. He i
ntroduced them briefly and then watched as John put his arm around Wayne's shoulder and the two of them walked away down between the rows of plants, John explaining and Wayne nodding. John suddenly remembered he was there. He turned.
“Its okay Mr Filton I will take Wayne home when we are finished. Thank you for everything.”
Tony nodded and turned to go He didn’t like to guess at how placements would turn out until before they had proved themselves, but the signs on this one were excellent.
Tony didn’t like anything about the probation office in Weston. He didn’t like the way they always assumed they knew more about life than he did despite the fact that they were all graduates and apart from some student jobs, had never been at the coalface. He also didn’t like the way they assumed that he was there just at the end of a telephone eagerly awaiting their call. He also didn’t like the lectures they gave him about exactly what the would be trainees problems were on the strength of a Social Services or police report they had read and he didn’t like the way they lied about their clients problems and background if they thought that would make Tony keener to take them. For their part they were unhappy that Tony wanted the full background on anyone they referred to him when that nice Roy and Cheryl had never thought it necessary. After all, they were an arm of the court and ACYOP were well, just a bunch of do-gooders. No offence, but what did they know about the law and how it should be upheld. The consequence was that Tony and most other supervisors always felt a sinking feeling when they had a call from probation. On this occasion he walked into their office, a converted five bedroom semidetached house in one of the better parts of town, expecting the usual reluctance to tell him anymore than rank, name, and offence of the client, except on this occasion Reece Jones had already spilt the beans. He wondered how the story Probation gave him would gel with theirs.
He walked through the car park that had once been the front garden of the house noting that unlike any ACYOP office the cars were all less than three years old. He rang the bell. The glass front door was kept locked presumably because sometimes Probation Officers sent their charges back to court when they did not toe the line and their clients took exception to this. The door buzzed and when the receptionist saw who it was and he was let in.
Jade Meadows was a surprise. As Reece had told him she was new he had expected a graduate. Someone in their mid to late twenties. This woman was over forty. She had come down from her office at the receptionist’s call and because of her age Tony had not realised who she was until she had spoken.
“Tony Filton?”
“Yes, Jade Meadows I presume.”
He held out his hand and the woman gave it an unusually firm handshake. She beckoned.
“Come on up.”
When they entered her office a teenage boy was already there. He had short blond curly hair and was about five feet seven with a row of earrings, five in all through his left ear. He was quite tidily dressed in jeans, and a checked bomber jacket and apart from his build did not have the look of a hard case or a delinquent. He stood up when Tony walked in and he could see that Reece’s description was accurate. The kid was built like the proverbial brick toilet. Jade meadows waved Tony to the other unoccupied seat in front of her desk while she remained standing.
“Tony, this is Kevin. Kevin this is Mr Filton. Kevin Tell Mr Filton how you came to be here. I am going to get a coffee so you have ten or fifteen minutes to talk things over.” And she left the room.
Tony was quite shocked. Probation never usually let you meet the kid until you had agreed to take them and then it took weeks to sort out the true story from the official line. He thought he could work well with Jade Meadows however new to the job she was. After all he hadn’t been there six months himself yet. He raised an enquiring eyebrow at Kevin as soon as the door closed behind the woman. Kevin squirmed. Tony spoke first.
“Look Kevin, it is my job to get you a job on the scheme. It is pretty important to you too as if we don’t you are going away for at least six months to a Young Offenders Institute and they are not nice. Now we are not supposed to tell employers what your crime is, but I have found that if we don’t, most employers won’t have you. To get around it the best thing is for you to voluntarily tell them about what you did. Employers seem to like that and it forms a basis of trust between you both. Do you understand all that?”
Kevin nodded, studying his hands in his lap.
“Well come on then.”
The kid sighed and then started his story.
“We was in the pub playing snooker when these three blokes came in, pissed they was. Cidered up” He glanced up to see if the last had registered. It had. People drunk on cider were invariably drunker and sometimes more aggressive than the normal drunks. “We was only halfway through our game and they said they wanted the table. We told them they had to chalk their name up on the board." He looked directly at Tony. “It’s the rules, everybody has to do that.” He continued. “The one in uniform said, Fuck the rules.” Kevin coloured. “I’m only repeating what he said.” He hesitated. “Then I said, well fuck you too mate. Then he punched me in the face.”
He looked Tony directly in face.
“He was taller than me and a bloody Royal Marine and I was shit scared he was going to do me over so when I got up I hit him with the cue before he could punch me again.” He appealed now. “I didn’t start it Mr Filton, honest and he was a soldier and ten years older than me.”
Kevin ran out of steam. Tony let a few seconds go by and then quietly asked.
“And the police sergeant.”
Kevin looked angrily up at him.
“He asked for it. He has been after my brother for years, but Georgie was too clever for him. When he saw me he was really happy.” He imitated the sergeant. “Well, well, well, if it isn’t young Kevin Fredericks. Bad blood will out I always says.” He glowered. “He went on like that for ages taking the piss. I know Georgie has done a few things, but that’s not my fault.”
He looked at Tony for confirmation of this and Tony showed his agreement.
“Then he made me take off my belt and shoelaces before they put me in the cell so I couldn’t hang meself. I thought that was it, but then he told me I had to take out me earrings. I said they didn’t usually come out as I kept them in all the time. He made the two other coppers hold me in an arm lock and then he just pulled them out by brute force. It was agony.”
“So you head butted him?”
“Yeah, well he put his face right in mine and said see, they did come out. I was so bloody angry I just smashed my head against his nose.”
He looked up at Tony.
“They beat me up for about half an hour after that until I fainted and then they chucked me on the bed and left me there." He shuddered. "I thought I was going down in that court, I really did.” He turned to Tony. “Can you really get me a job?”
Tony shrugged.
“What do you want to do?”
Kevin thought for a bit.
“Nothing to do with lorries. I want to learn about building so one day I can start my own company.”
Tony realised the kid had given him the answer.
“Look Kevin, I don’t think I can get you into a proper building firm until some of the fuss dies down about you putting a Falklands Hero in the hospital.” He held his hand up as the boy’s face fell. “But I can get you onto one of our project groups. They spend their time renovating old buildings and you would learn a lot. If I put you there for six months and it all works out fine then I could probably move you on to a private builder for the rest of the year.”
The boy was all attention. Tony explained.
“It is run by a bloke called Cec Goodman who is a plaster by trade, but also knows a lot about the building trade. I will go and see him tomorrow and if he is in agreement you can start next Monday.”
The door opened and Jade Meadows walked in. Her timing made Tony wonder if the place was bugged. Kevin turned to her with his whole face alight. r />
“Mr Filton is going to get me a job with one oh his building teams.”
Mrs Meadows smiled and said, “That’s good Kevin. You can go now while Mr Filton and I discuss it a bit. Come back on Friday at ten o’clock.”
Kevin nodded and headed for the door. He turned as he left.
“Thanks, Mr Filton.”
Tony gave him a small smile and nodded. When he turned back Jade Meadows was staring hard at him.
“Can you do that?”
Tony nodded again.
“Yes I think so. Despite what he has done I don’t think he is a bad lad. I have taken a couple of kids from the Construction groups that they couldn’t deal with so it is about time they returned the favour.”
“And if they don’t?”
“I will have to get him placed with a local builder, but what with the story in the gazette that will be a bit harder and might take a little longer.”
She nodded.
“OK Tony, I can call you Tony can I?
He grinned.
“Better than Mr Filton, Jade?”
She smiled back and after again promising to keep her informed he left.
For the rest of the day Tony spent his time trying to convince Brummie Mike that he ought to give the kid a chance with one of his Construction groups, preferably Cec Goodman’s. Finally Mike said that if he could convince Cec to take him he would not stand in his way. Tony then had to go out to the church hall where Cec’s team was working and go through the whole thing again. Here he got lucky. Two of the kids had been to school with Kevin Fredericks. They both said he was all right as long as you were not on the other side in a rugby match. They also confirmed that the sergeant he had nutted was a right nasty bastard who none of the kids liked. Finally Cec said he would give Kevin a week’s trial. Tony went back to the office and phoned a delighted Jade Meadows. Tony stressed to her that Kevin was on a week’s trial.
The following Monday Tony picked up Kevin and took him to Cec Goodman’s project getting there at ten o’clock as agreed. Cec asked the kid a few questions about what he wanted to do with his life and seemed satisfied with the answers. Tony kept out of the way while this was going on and chatted to the other lads who poured him a cup of tea. The mug looked as if it hadn’t been washed for some time, but the tea was good. Then Cec brought Kevin over to the other six kids in the project. The ones who knew Kevin smiled and acknowledged him. The ones who didn’t also smiled at him, if a trifle nervously. After all, if he had downed a marine and broken a policeman’s nose so what could he do to them? Cec introduced him all round and gave his usual short lecture on teamwork and no pissing around. Then he picked up a one-metre length of electric conduit that lay conveniently to hand. Flexing his big workman’s shoulders he put a bend in it. He handed it to Kevin.
“Let’s see you straighten that out completely then.”
Kevin took it and struggled for a few moments before Cec took the tubing off him.
“Have to build you up a bit by the look of it. I’ll tell you what I told the rest of them. Any fighting or bullying in this group and I will bend a bit of that tube right around your necks and send you home with it there.”
Kevin looked shocked, but the rest of the kids all started laughing and he realised that Cec’s bark was probably worse than his bite.
Cec saw Tony to his car. Tony shook his hand before leaving and smiled.
“How often do you pull that trick with the conduit?”
“Only with the ones who look as if they might be a handful.”
“Has anyone ever straightened it out?”
“Don’t be daft, Tony, of course not. Straightening it is completely different from bending it, as you can’t get the right purchase just using your hands. Didn’t they teach you smart young buggers any physics at school?”
He grinned from ear to ear as Tony climbed into the MBG and drove off. They could do with more blokes like old Cec.
Tony was also happy, but for another reason. Late on last Friday afternoon Sue had rung him up to say he was not to worry about Cheryl anymore, as she was no longer his Supervisor. When he asked who was his Supervisor Sue told him that for the time being he could report straight to her or if she was unavailable his office manager. Tony knew there was no chance of him reporting to Malcolm, as he would be retired before he got a reply or a decision. He had tried to press Sue on who would be replacing Cheryl, but she would not be drawn. She just said the organisation would be making some major changes.
He had told Tas about it when he had picked her up on the Friday night from the station, but she had just said if that meant she didn’t have listen to him moaning about Cheryl Baxter anymore then that had to be a good thing. As for how her course was going she was unusually reticent, just saying couldn’t they leave work behind for this weekend. Tony was happy to agree and they went and had dinner in their usual Friday pub. When they got home Tony produced the bottle of Spanish Cava he had bought in Sainsbury’s on the way home to celebrate his freedom from the Baxter. He told Tas that she didn’t have to drink it if she didn’t want to because of the connotations it had to his job of work. She punched him in the arm and fetched two glasses.
By bed time the bottle was empty and they were both in the same armchair, Tas sitting on his lap with her head on his shoulder. When Tony realised she was asleep he knew that the rest of his plan for the evening was a goner, but he could always switch off the alarm clock and they could have a lie in the morning.