Bob's Your Uncle

- ‘Fuck me, Ummagumma!’
- ‘Yeah… I like Floyd.’ He said, rubbing sleep from his eyes.
I liked them too. Blokes: we always have a sneaking admiration for our older brothers’ music. Even punk hadn’t come between us. Although the Ruts had come close. He’s older than me; by quite a lot, actually. Born in the early 50’s to my ’61. 18 and left home before I was a teenager. Went to sea. I doubt you can do that now – unless you get a job on a RORO ferry in Felixstowe. That’s hardly deep-sea-first-stop-Valparaiso, is it? We’d never been close. Weird really. Both went to boarding school, left home at 18. Seen more countries between us than an ex-politician. I even look like him, a bit. If you take into account the age difference, and the diabetes. He still drinks, even so. Odd that, given Bernadette’s problems.
- ‘You want a coffee?’ meaning he did.
- ‘I’ll make it, stay there.’
Shit! Into that kitchen. Come on, admit it, the kids have never been ill a day in their lives: it’s not that bad. I swallowed and went on the hunt for the cleanest available mugs.
He looked bad. Standing in the kitchen doorway, the combover suffering the usual morning failure. He’d slept in the clothes again. The kids were at school. God alone knew where Bernadette was: AA or the White Horse or on a bus to Blackpool. Endless possibilities.
- ‘So… What’s up?’ He only slurred a little; it could have been his blood sugar level.
- ‘Hey, can’t I come and see my brother? Just fancied a chat.’ I wasn’t convinced myself.
- ‘Yeah, right! We’re ok you know.’ He looked down at his feet. Old man’s slippers. I felt ashamed for him.
- ‘Kettle’s boiled.’ He observed. ‘No sugar.’ He laughed.
- ‘Have you thought about it? What I said, last week?’
- ‘No chance, bro. Not a fucking chance.’
- ‘Why not? You could do it. They’ll never catch us. You could move to Manila, or Brasil. You’ve always said you would have stayed in Rio.’
- ‘I had to prang the boat to get there, though.’
- ‘I thought it was the pilot’s fault? That’s what the inquiry said.’
- ‘You weren’t there.’ He said, peevishly.
- ‘Come on, it’s easy money. Do your geeky thing, leave the rest to me and Bob’s your mother’s brother.’
- ‘Yeah, well, the company’s been good to me.’ He shook his head. ‘I can’t do it.’
Just like that, a flat refusal. And it was a beautiful plan. Hack into the Company’s system, get every ore and chemical tanker in open water at the same time- and leave them there. A Ship’s Master relies on a computer operator nowadays, not a Mate with a sextant. My brother ran the whole system from Head Office. Yep, a beauty of a plan: just pretend to be unable to sort out his own software; take the sacking that would surely come – and blackmail the fuckers. These ships have to meet timetables; the distances are so vast. Full or empty, the time on the sea costs the most. They would pay, for sure.
- ‘Come on, what do you owe them?’ I wanted to know.
- ‘You’d never understand…’ He replied, and I don’t think I did.
There was more than one kind of persuasion. The kids would be okay with their Uncle, I’d pick them up from school later. A week away would be an adventure, wouldn’t it? My plans had always been good, no mistakes this time. After all, I was doing it for him, for his family. 40/60 split, how fair was that?