Scrap 58

SCRAP 58
Frank has been clearing out his lock-up in Chatham, leaving him with just one rented garage on the Island, in which he is storing the last of the contraband. It was fun while it lasted but now there are too many people ringing cars and selling knocked off merchandise so he has to concentrate on other ways of making a little extra money.
Jason is pleased to see his dad’s old mate at the scrap yard and greets him like a long-lost friend. ‘Got time for a cuppa?’ he asks, desperate for some company. Frank says sure he has the time and it will be nice to have a catch-up on all the news. They weigh off the scrap metal and stack the car batteries; Jason tots up the amount owed and pays in cash. It isn’t much but it will buy a few beers on this holiday he has talked himself into. They climb the stairs to the office and Jason makes the tea, fishes out some chocolate biscuits and the two sit on old car seats at the window overlooking the yard.
‘Where have you been all this time? We haven’t seen anything of you. Rosa keeps asking after you but nobody seems to know where you live nowadays.’ Frank explains that after the owners decided to clear the caravan site he had to get out and has found a flat in town. ‘Never mind what I’m doing; how are things with you?’ asks Frank, finishing his fifth chocolate biscuit. Jason fetches the tin and places it on the table. He doesn’t need to urge Frank to help himself.
‘Well, I’m still here,’ says Jason, with a resigned smile. ‘Someone has to keep an eye on that brother-in-law of mine.’ Frank coughs as a gulp of hot tea catches in his throat. ‘They tied the knot last Saturday. Sittingbourne registry office, just them and two witnesses off the street. Ma is furious with them, she wanted the whole big white wedding thing with all the family from Ireland but Rosa put her foot down. Said she wasn’t having a repeat of what happened at Dad’s funeral and anyway white was not appropriate, which set Ma off all the more. They’ve gone on honeymoon to Bognor, of all places.’ Frank is unusually subdued by this news; he knew it was likely the two would get wed but it has hit him in a way he could not have expected.
Trying not to look rattled; Frank says that he too is off to Bognor at the end of the week. Jason says he wishes he could come too but he can’t leave the yard. Danny and Rosa are away for a fortnight and Ma couldn’t manage on her own. They continue to chat about nothing in particular, then with Frank promising to keep in touch, they say their goodbyes and he drives away feeling downhearted and not really understanding why.
To cheer himself up he decides to drive over to Ken’s place and collect his wages. He turns the eight-track up so the volume drowns out his thoughts and sings along as loudly as he can with the windows wound right down so startled pedestrians shout as he passes by at speed. Rain is blowing in on the passenger side but Frank doesn’t care: he needs to blow away the cobwebs.
Ken and Pat are having one of their shouting matches as Frank arrives at their house on the Leas. Kenneth, their 16 year old son, opens the door to let him in, his eyes flicking upwards as Frank shrugs in recognition of the war zone. ‘What’s it about this time?’ he asks, in a low voice. Kenneth has stretched himself out on the cream coloured settee; his booted feet up on the cushions. ‘Something to do with the launderette,’ he explains, ‘he told her he’d put new cleaning fluid in the machine Saturday morning and she put one of her precious bed covers in after lunch sometime and it came out covered in grease. She reckons it’s ruined and of course he’s getting the blame.’
Frank decides not to stay around. Kenneth finds his pay envelope and hands it over. ‘Good luck with World War Three,’ says Frank as he quietly lets himself out the house and drives off, chuckling to himself. Poor Ken can’t get anything right with that woman.