Scrap 19

SCRAP 19

Frank makes short work of cutting up the minivan and soon the pieces are neatly loaded onto his trailer, secured with rope and covered with a tarpaulin sheet. He is about to leave the farmyard when he hears a commotion coming from the house and dashes over to see what’s up.
The front door is unlocked and he opens it, steps into the hallway and calls out. ‘Mavis, it’s Frank, where are you?’ He follows the sound of her screams through to the kitchen where he finds her crouched on the draining board, fending off her two Rottweiler dogs.
Grabbing them by the scruffs of their necks and using all his strength he hauls them away and shuts them in the hall, where they continue to growl and bark alarmingly. He helps Mavis down and sits her on a chair. Her arms are scratched and bleeding. He grabs a tea towel, runs cold water over it and covers her wounds. She is cursing and swearing, a reaction to the shock of being attacked by her loyal ‘boys’.
‘How could they do this to me Frank?’ She cries. ‘I was only trying to stop them fighting.’
Frank finds some iodine in one of the cupboards and tends to the scratches as best he can with Mavis yelping in pain as the stinging sensation burns at her flesh. Then he turns his hand to making a pot of very strong tea and pouring two big mugs with plenty of sugar. He sits with her as the hot tea calms them both. ‘They never used to be any trouble,’ moans Mavis. ‘It’s only since Harry passed away.’
Harry has been dead for three years and the dogs have always been a handful, but Frank knows better than to argue with Mad Mavis: he needs to keep her on his side. The lock-up is essential to his current activities. ‘When is the last time they went for a run?’ he asks. Mavis looks at him sharply. ‘They get exercise,’ she snaps. ‘I expect they are hungry. Give them some of that out the tin will you?’ Frank examines the contents of an already open tin of dog food. It must have been there for days. ‘I’ll open a fresh one,’ he says, hunting about for further supplies. He finds nothing but a bag of biscuits. ‘Better give them this to be going on with,’ he says, throwing the lot into the hall and closing the door.
The dogs are starving and gulp down the food in seconds. ‘Look,’ says Frank, ‘You stay here and I’ll nip to the shop and get them some grub. Don’t go near them ‘til I get back, okay?’ Mavis nods and he leaves by the back door.
He could do without this delay but someone has to take charge. He backs the trailer into the shed, unhitches the car and locks the door before driving to the shop for dog food. The errand costs him half an hour and he hears the dogs howling as soon as he pulls up at the door.
Mavis seems grateful to see him. ‘Thanks,’ she says, handing over a one pound note for the food, which has cost almost twice that. Frank pockets it anyway and after her assurances that she will be okay now he leaves her to it, collects the trailer and drives towards the scrap yard.
The prospect of seeing Rosa again soon cheers him up as he sings along to the crackly radio. It’s been nearly a fortnight since Bill’s funeral and Frank has been busy with other things.