Scrap 46

SCRAP 46
A group of drivers are sunning themselves at Newhaven docks while waiting to be called for loading. They are stripped to the waist, exposing their lard-coloured torsos, which are already showing patches of pink at high spots. It is not a pretty sight. Frank and Scotty are looking at a photograph in this morning’s Sun newspaper and discussing the image in crude detail.
Gasper Gerry joins them, his bare chest a criss-cross of scars from various operations to remove bits of tuberculosis-damaged lungs. His ribs are clearly visible and striped pink and grey where the sun has caught his wrinkled skin. ‘Lock up your wives chaps,’ he wheezes, ‘Beanpole Brett is back in town. A murmur of groans and curses goes round the group. Beanpole is built like a streak of piss but the ladies seem magnetically drawn to his charms, whatever they may be.
‘It’s a mystery to me what the women see in him,’ observes Gerry, ‘After all, he’s not the best looking bloke on the block.’ Ginger Jarvis cuts in, eager to put in his opinion: ‘I know,’ he leers, ‘it’s because he’s hung like a horse.’ Scotty glares at him. ‘He’ll be hung from a fucking lamp post if he tries it on with my Dawn.’ Frank has no such worries, having 3 ladies on the go at present and not particularly attached to any of them. ‘You’ll have to watch your Laura then won’t you Ginger? I heard she was very friendly with Beanpole before he disappeared. Where has he been this past few months anyway?’
They all know where Beanpole Brett has been for the past six months. He has been serving time at Her Majesty’s Prison Maidstone after getting caught stealing a lorry load of oranges from a store in Faversham. He had climbed onto the warehouse roof, squeezed through a fanlight left open by an accomplice (who, incidentally has never been identified) and opened the doors from inside. He had driven the lorry to Spitalfields Market in London where he had an eager buyer waiting. After offloading the oranges and pocketing a wadge of cash he had driven to Scratchwood services on the M1, driven to the other side of the carriageway and abandoned it in a lay-by heading south. This would indicate that the load had been disposed of somewhere up north.
The plan had worked very well and Brett had been in fine form when his accomplice picked him up in his Volkswagen camper van after he had parked the lorry. He had been happy to pass on a share of the proceedings to his ‘mate’ and they had driven back to the Island in high spirits.
Unfortunately for Beanpole, the Law had somehow found out every detail of his activities that night and he had found himself well and truly nicked. Of course his accomplice had got away scot free because Brett was many things but he was no grass.
Scotty changes the subject; he doesn’t want to be reminded of Beanpole Brett. He has long been suspicious of his youngest girl, who looks very different to her siblings. ‘We’re going up to Biggin Hill at the weekend for the Air Show,’ he says. ‘Do you fancy coming with us, Frank?’ Frank is fully aware that there are not enough seats in Scotty’s old banger for his entire brood but he doesn’t mind taking some of the load and it will be a good laugh. ‘As long as you bring your own tent,’ adds Scotty.
Ginger Jarvis cuts in: ‘Me and Laura are taking the kids in the camper van,’ he boasts, ‘We’ve got all mod cons in there and an awning for the kids to sleep in. You should get one Scotty, it would be ideal for your lot.’ Scotty would dearly love to own a Volkswagen camper but he can’t afford one on his wages.