The Loner, page 35
“Do you always keep your motorbike in the house?” he asked.
“Only when we’re doing repairs – but a bike needs plenty of maintenance!”
Mark was thinking of the smell of oil in the air. He recalled Mr. Shannon’s words, and what Susan had said. Perhaps his future in Buchanan Street was not going to be so rosy after all.
Another thought crossed his mind. “Where’s the toilet?” he asked.
“Out at the back.”
“You mean...? Oh, of course.” It had been a long time since Mark had last visited Buchanan Street, and had had to use the loo.
“That’s right – no inside loo, and no bath. Just like old days. Isn’t it grand!”
Mark was not sure he shared his friend’s enthusiasm. “What do you do for a bath?” was his next question.
“Oh, that’s easy. There are baths in the University’s old Student Union. You just take your toilet things and go and have a bath.”
“But I don’t belong to the University.”
“Neither did I until this year. Don’t let that put you off, though. No-one ever checks, and if I look like a university student, they’re certainly not going to stop you.”
“Why?”
“You’re not one of the long-haired – like I am!’
Mark stared vacantly into the middle distance. His mouth opened and closed without uttering a sound; he felt like a fish out of water.
His friend was not unaware of his dismay. Bob slapped him on the back. “Look, Mark,” he said.”I know this place is a bit unusual, but I’m telling you: you’re really going to enjoy yourself here. I’ve been living here two and a half years now, and there’s nothing like it in Liverpool.”
Mark might have agreed with the final statement, but not in quite the sense intended by Bob. He made a sudden movement towards the door.
“I must go now,” he said.
“Go?” asked Bob, afraid he was going to dart off for good. “You are going to stay with us, aren’t you Mark?”
“Y-yes,” Mark sounded far from certain, “but I have to go now and fetch my cases.”
Mark returned about an hour later carrying the two big suitcases. He was out of breath, and soaked in sweat, in spite of the cold weather. “I’m all here now,” he said, wondering whether this remark could be said to apply as much to his mental faculties as to his physical possessions.
Bob viewed the cases. “You should have told me you had no transport,” he observed. “I’d have come and helped you if I’d known. You look shattered.”
“I am,” said the other as he staggered upstairs.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here, Mark,” Bob continued, handing him a mug of coffee on his return to the common room. “So now, how’d you like to help me with the children tonight?”
“Children! What children?” Mark looked around, wondering if Bob had a secret family in residence.
“You know what I mean, the children we teach.”
“Those children!”
“That’s right. There’s nothing much to do really. Only I’m out with Sue tonight, and someone ought to take my kids. Their mum will bring them round. All you have to do is give them a few sums, and get them to read a bit. Don’t take it too seriously though – they think it’s a game. Their names are John and Peter Brown. Will you do it?”
Mark nodded. The idea was quite a challenge.
John and Peter arrived with their mother in due course: two energetic children, full of the joys of life, neatly dressed in shorts, and freshly washed.
Mark took them up to his room and asked them their names.
“I’m John,” said one.
“Me Pete,” exclaimed the other.
They both sat down on the mattress, which was on the floor. They started bouncing on it.
“How old are you?”
“I’m eight,” said John, as he bounced up into the air.
“I’m seven,” said Pete, taking off just as his brother landed.
Mark smiled, and then tried to command a fatherly tone. “Now come on, you two,” he said “I thought you wanted to learn to read and write.”
“We wanna play,” said John. “Wot gud is lessons to us?”
“Well, let’s try these sums...” The two infants hesitated for a moment.
“Wot d’youz need sums fer?” asked John.
“Don’t you want to be able to count – to add up the scores on a dart board?”
Pete’s response was automatic: “Me dad is gud at darts. Ee’s champion round ‘ere! But ‘ee does it all in ‘is’ ead. ‘Ee don’t need to know ‘ow to do sums!”
“Doesn’t your mum want you to learn...?”
“Ah, me mum does.”
That seemed to settle the point for the moment, and Mark had their attention for the next fifteen minutes or so, while he went through some very simple arithmetic. Then the two boys began to become fidgety again.
“All right, let’s talk about play then,” said the teacher, thinking that a short break might help. “What do you do when you play?”
“We plays football, mistuh. There’s nothin’ much else to play round ‘ere.”
“Please call me Mark, John – not mister. Where do you play football?”
“Where d’yer t’ink? We play ‘ere.”
“Is there a playground near here?”
“Playground, Merk? De only playground we ‘ave is at school. De street is gud enough fer us!”
“But isn’t it dangerous because of the cars?”
“There’s not many cars as cums round ‘ere, mistuh Merk. So we don’t mind.”
“What else do you do when you play?”
“We runs around wi’ Paddy’s dog.”
“With Paddy’s dog?”
“Yeah! Paddy’s gorra dog – a big un! Dey calls ‘em an alsatian. An’ we’re all a gang , yer see, an’ run round together wi’ t’ dog. We’re the Buchanan Street kids! An’ if anyun tries to stop us, Paddy’s dog wuffs at ‘em, an’ we ‘ave lots of fun! Wot d’youz do when youz playin’, mistuh Merk?”
This was a good question, and Mark blushed, as he replied “Oh, I go out into the country, and look at caves.”
The two boys looked quite bewildered. Looking at caves sounded rather like working in a mine. Not their idea of fun at all.
“Do your mum and dad take you out into the country?” Mark asked.
“Inter de country. Ah no. Dey teks us to der perk sumtimes. An’ me Mum’s saving up ter send us ter Formby Hall.”
“Formby Hall?”
“Yer. De corpy owns it. Dey teks kids dere fer a few days in der Spring an’ Summer. An we ‘ave lots of fun! Makes me dad mad, though, to lose all that brass. ‘Ee sez ‘ee cud spend on der booze. Sez we’re wastin’ ‘is brass!’
The other child, who had remained silent during most of this conversation, now made his own contribution.
Are youz comin’ ter Formby Hall this time, mistuh Merk?” he asked, “You will cum, won’t yer?”
Next morning, Mark came downstairs and made his breakfast: a mug of coffee and a plate of toast. Bob arrived as Mark was starting to eat. He wore cords and a neat sweater. His long hair hung over his shoulders untidily. When he saw Mark, his jaw dropped, and he uttered a cry of amazement.
“Mark, what are you doing here, dressed like that?” he asked, barely managing to conceal his dismay.
Mark blushed and grinned, while his friend took in his brand new dark suit, clean shoes, and all the other paraphernalia of a city gentleman. Most surprising of all was his tie and waistcoat.
“Does it look so bad?” Mark asked self-consciously. “It is only a cheap suit, but it was all I was able to afford. It’s... my first day at work today.”
“Look so bad! You must be joking!” Bob exclaimed, slapping him on the back. “By God, Mark, I’ve known you as a student for so long that I just couldn’t imagine you dressed like this,”
Bob had evidently forgotten his first meeting with his friend at New Brighton, when he had urged Mark to change from a suit into less formal clothes.
Mark smiled and looked much happier. “Actually, these are my working clothes,” he explained. “When I come home, I’ll put on my best clothes – and wear jeans!”
“How did you get on with kids last night?” Bob asked, changing the subject.
“If was nice teaching them, Bob. They’re very interesting.”
“That’s exactly right! The children round here are a great bunch – really hard, but with hearts as soft as butter. A great sense of humour too.”
“And how did you get on last night, Bob?”
“Oh, it’s all on and off between me and Sue,” Bob replied airily, as if that was something which caused him no great concern. “Has been for months. I’m not sure it’ll last much longer,”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s a long story, Mark. I’ll tell you about it sometime.”
“There’s one thing I wanted to ask you Bob. It’s something I can’t understand. I saw an old car yesterday, parked by the roadside. Some kids were playing in it. I saw it again this morning. At least, I think it was the same one – but it was a burnt out wreck.”
“Probably a stolen car. The thieves will have used it and dumped it here – when the petrol ran out.”
“Do the thieves live here?’
Bob laughed. “No, of course not. They’d never abandon a stolen car on their own doorstep. But the kids. That’s another story – a sad story! You see, they know everyone who has a car of their own in the road, and they won’t touch your car if they know it’s yours. But, if they don’t know who the owner is...” His words trailed away. He shrugged his shoulders. “They pull it to pieces; set fire to it perhaps. The trouble is they think they’re only playing with it, and they have no idea of value. Their mums and dads should stop them, I suppose.”
“Why don’t they?”
“I don’t quite know. It’s got something to do with the other kind philosophy, I think.”
“What do you mean?”
You know, you don’t steal from your own kind: but to steal from the other kind is perfectly acceptable. It’s something that’s rooted in the good old English Class System. Some people only see the World in terms of ‘them’ and ‘us’.”
“But that’s wrong.”
“So it is – by our standards. It wouldn’t be so bad if they still applied the rule rigidly. Times have changed, I’m afraid, and now anything goes; there are thieves who rob their own kind just as much as our kind – possibly more. Old aged pensioners who are too weak to defend themselves, for example.”
“You’re joking, Bob. I don’t believe you.”
“No, Mark, I know I’m not usually serious, but I’m in earnest now. You see it all the time. The same happens to houses as happens to abandoned cars; while the house is occupied, the kids won’t touch it. But if the house is empty, they’ll smash windows; steal lead from gutters – do no end of damage unless it’s boarded up. You see, most of the houses round here are tenanted, and the structure belongs to landlord, and not to tenant – to ‘them’ and not to ‘us’.”
Mark frowned. He was surprised and puzzled.
“I’m afraid your middle-class values are going to take a knocking, while you live here, Mark.”
“I suppose so.”
“So, now you’ve arrived, are you glad to be here?”
Mark paused, while several conflicting impressions flashed through his mind: his friend’s very open and positive attitude; the contempt of the barrister, who would not have been seen dead in the neighbourhood; the comfortable hostel, where every service was provided, and the house, where he had to look after himself; the parties the house was famous for, and his own inevitable failure to date any girl at any party; the run down neighbourhood, where the students were very much part of the community, and the world of hostels and halls of residence, where students formed their own communities, with ideas and ideals based only on what they had read in books; the children, innocent in their villainy, with so little to look forward to, whilst so determined to make the best of their wretched lives. The words of Bob’s pupil kept ringing in his ears: “Youz will cum ter Formby Hall, won’t you?”
Mark found it hard to confess his true feelings, but in the end he had to admit: “Yes, I’m glad to be here. It’s a real adventure. I wouldn’t live anywhere else in the world!”
CHAPTER 24
Professional Blues
Mark took the bus into town and walked down Dale Street feeling most uncomfortable. Dale Street was the centre of professional and commercial business in the city, and it was an odd experience to walk about town in a dark suit, tie, and waistcoat, and look like a young city gentleman. He saw some students on their way to college, dressed in jeans and sweaters, and envied them for the way of life he was leaving behind.
As he passed the Municipal Buildings, he was stopped by a couple with broad mid-west accents, dressed informally, and carrying a large bag packed with photographic instruments.
“Hi!” called the man, as he unpacked his camera, “May I take a picture?”
“He sure is quaint,” his wife remarked as Mark obligingly posed for the picture. “Gee! The folks back home will be real glad to see a photo of a real English city gent! It sure is good to see a young gent as smart as this young man – after those students in their scruffy jeans.”
Mark listened in amazement. If the truth had been known, he would have far preferred to be one of the scruffy students at that moment, than to be dressed in his unfamiliar, formal city suit with its ridiculous waistcoat.
At length, he reached an old Victorian building, with a multiplicity of floors and offices set into a structure of red brick and iron. On several of the second floor windows of this old commercial building, he noted the bold characters of the title “BRIEF SHARPE AND SLIK, Solicitors and Commissioners for Oaths.”
He entered a covered arcade, and mounted an old rusty staircase. The door at the top was open, and he went in. There was a pretty girl sitting behind a typewriter at the other side of a counter. He had a fleeting impression of long fair hair, a diminutive figure, and a provocative miniskirt. She rose to greet him as he came in. The room was painted a fresh bright white, and the whole set-up conveyed an impression of modernness and efficiency.
“You must be Mr. Mark Flitley, our new articled clerk,” she said.
Mark nodded shyly, as she introduced herself and welcomed him.
“Sit down,” she said.”I’ll let Mr. Brief know you’re here. He wants to see you.”
Mark sat down on a bench of dark foam-filled leather, as the girl disappeared through a door behind the counter. She came back a moment later and ushered him into Mr. Brief’s office.
This was a large and spacious room, with high walls, decorated in the best modern fashion in plain colours. In a way, the room seemed quite unsuited to the nineteenth century building which housed it. There were white walls, a tall filing cabinet bursting with fat files, a smaller cabinet with draws, a bookcase with a surprisingly modest selection of law books, and dominating the whole apartment, a large new desk, lightly veneered in pinewood. The man behind the desk had short grey hair, and wore a pin-striped suit. He was a little man – quite small for such a big room.
“Come in, Mr. Flitley,” he called, with a grand welcoming gesture. He looked at the notes in front of him and flicked through some pages. “Do you mind if I call you by your Christian name?” he continued. “What is it now? Ah yes, Mark. Do you mind if I call you Mark?”
Mark studied the floor shyly. Somehow the atmosphere of the office, which was designed to impress the clients, was having an intimidating effect on him; he never had felt very confident, and it was one thing to feel at home with his friends, quite another to face the world represented by Mr. Brief.
Mr. Brief did not seem particularly dismayed by his new clerk’s monosyllabic reply and evident shyness. He looked as though he might have known many articled clerks who had reacted in the same way when new to the firm. “Good. You may call me Roger,” he said. “Now please take a seat.”
They shook hands, and he waved majestically to a chair in front of the desk. Then he picked up the telephone and ordered coffees.
“Welcome to Brief Sharpe and Slik,” he said. “We look forward to seeing you complete your articles with us. Let’s hope this will be the beginning of a very happy and profitable association.”
Mark nodded affirmatively. As a student, he had learnt to despise any sign of pompousness, as well as to distrust anyone motivated by profit. So Mr. Brief’s grand welcoming words, which were meant to put him at ease, made him feel more than ever like a fish out of water.
“We have a good practice here, which is expanding rapidly,” continued the solicitor, opening his arms in an expansive gesture, and looking proudly at the cabinet bursting with files. We – that is my partners and I – want you to be part of that achievement.”
Mark nodded again. The solicitor’s strange and unfamiliar manner seemed to belong to a bygone age represented in historical novels. As Mark did not read any historical novels, he could think of no suitable reply.
Mr. Brief continued: “We are a small family firm, and cannot afford to specialise too much. I’m the litigation partner. My colleague, Mr. Slik, is the conveyancing partner. We like to start our articled clerks with six months experience in the litigation office. Are you happy with that, Mark?”
Mark nodded again. His failure to articulate and make any but minimal gestures were beginning to make Mr. Brief feel uncomfortable. There was a vacant expression on the clerk’s face and a slight frown – not the kind of enthusiastic and friendly smile that was designed to assure clients of the best of his attention.
The solicitor made another attempt to break the ice: “You must be very tired after your exams,” he said sympathetically.
“It was very hard work.” The clerk was at last making a positive response.
“Well, Mark, how do you think they went?”
“I-er-don’t know.” The stammer was a bad mistake. The impression the solicitor received was one of hesitation, indecision, and possible failure. It was in fact a false impression, as Mark had never felt confident of passing any examination in his life.
