Scrap 79

SCRAP 79
Scotty is sitting in the café at the dockyard, a mug of hot tea in front of him and a cigarette in his hand, yawning and coughing by turns. Frank is sitting opposite in much the same mode but eating a chocolate biscuit between sips of tea, drags on the cigarette and coughing. ‘Back to the grindstone,’ says Scotty, getting his cough under control. ‘I always feel like this on the first day back. Look out, here comes Ginger Jarvis.’
Ginger sidles up, places his breakfast tray on the table and sits next to Scotty. ‘Don’t mind if I join you do you?’ They do mind of course, but they have missed out on a fortnight of gossip so decide to let him stay. ‘DC Staples was asking after you two,’ says Ginger, casually, ‘I told him you was on holiday. He said to tell you when you get back. Wouldn’t say what he wanted but he’s been making inquiries about car ringing.’ Frank sits back in his chair to allow Ivy to set his breakfast down. Scotty thanks her as she sets his in front of him and she gives a knowing wink as she heads back to the counter.
‘Nothing to do with us,’ says Frank, as he shakes a generous dollop of ketchup onto his bacon. ‘He’s just winding us up,’ adds Scotty, stuffing a chunk of sausage into his mouth. ‘Did you hear about Pam Barton going missing?’ Continues Ginger, knowing they couldn’t have done. ‘They say that Dave done her in and buried her out back. He reckons she’s gone to live with her sister in Brixton but I don’t reckon she’s got a sister in Brixton; she never mentioned any sister to me, and Gasper Gerry said he told him the sister lives in Chatham. Something very fishy going on there, mark my words.’
‘You wanna watch what you say old boy,’ warns Frank, pointing his fork in Ginger’s direction, ‘Dave Barton is not a man you want to cross. Anyhow, maybe Pam has gone off somewhere. The two of them were always at each other’s throats.’ Ginger cuts in: ‘exactly,’ he says, ‘in more ways than one.’
Frank can’t help wondering though. He did see Dave acting very suspiciously that night when he said he was burying a dead dog. Maybe it was Pam he was burying after all.
Once the lorries are loaded the pals have the whole afternoon to get on with another project and call at the Gull garage for some cans of spray paint and masking tape. There is no sign of Pam or Dave so Frank has a quiet nosy round the back. The dog kennel has been put back in its usual place and the dog is tethered to it with his chain. It looks very much like the dog they have owned for some years. Frank decides it is none of his business and he gets back in the car with his bag of supplies. ‘Here, hold this,’ he says to Scotty, handing over the bag. As he drives along he empties his pockets and hands the contents to Scotty one by one. He has somehow managed to filch a substantial amount of sweets, chocolate bars and batteries. ‘You’re a boy,’ laughs Scotty, as he helps himself to a boiled sweet. ‘Unwrap one for me then,’ laughs Frank.
After finishing their painting project the pals lock up and head for home. ‘See you in the morning,’ says Scotty. ‘I guess you will,’ replies Frank.
The flat is in a worse mess than usual, with all the drawers and cupboards left open and items of clothing strewn over the floor. The bed sheets are hanging on a chair and it is obvious someone has been looking for something. Frank sets about clearing up, when he would prefer to be taking a kip before tonight’s drive to Birmingham. He hears the key in the house front door and goes downstairs to have words with his landlady.
‘It was them cops,’ she explains, ‘said they was looking for something important. Asked me all sorts of questions and I don’t like it Mr Ridley. I told you I don’t stand for no trouble in this house so I want you out soon as you can find a new place.’
Frank protests his innocence but the landlady has made up her mind and anyway there are only three weeks left on his lease so now he has another problem to worry about. This Island is getting him down. It used to be fun when he moved here a year ago but it seems the whole place is going downhill fast. Maybe it’s time to look elsewhere, somewhere away from the Isle of Sheppey.