Scrap 82

SCRAP 82
The family are gathered together in the kitchen waiting hungrily as Dad and Uncle Frank deal out portions of fish and chips steaming hot from the Happy Haddock on Nelson Road. Dawn has not said a word to either of them and she takes her parcel of food into the front room to sit with the girls, who are already halfway through their meals. Scotty takes two tins of beer from the fridge, hands one to Frank and settles back in his battered old armchair by the empty fireside. Frank takes the only other armchair opposite and they stuff hot chips into their mouths, taking draughts of cold beer to wash the food down.
Robbie calls over from the dining table ‘This is great, I love fishy chips,’ as he carefully picks off a piece of battered cod to nibble at. The boys are content to sit in peace with their food and cans of orange fizz, unaware that this is not the only surprise the men have in store for them.
After the last morsel is eaten, the paper wrappers are screwed up and squashed into the already full pedal bin. ‘What’s for afters?’ Asks Robbie, cheekily. Frank hands over a handful of coins and sends the boys off to the corner shop for sweets, leaving him and Scotty to finish their food in peace. Scotty drains his tin and fetches two more from the fridge. When both have finished Frank suggests they unload the trailer.
The boys take their time divvying up the pile of coins and spend half an hour deciding what they want to buy with their share. The shopkeeper is accustomed to such big spenders and seems to have endless patience with them. After all, these boys are not only present but future customers. Eventually they have all made their purchases and amble home sampling the wares along the way.
‘What’s that outside our house?’ Asks Robbie, who has skipped along ahead of the others. As they catch him up they see that leaning against the house wall is a row of bicycles, one for each of them. Stuffing bags of sweets into their pockets they race to grab their bike of choice, Robbie ending up with the tricycle. Frank and Scotty have been waiting for their return and laugh as the boys set off up the road whooping with joy on their new steeds. ‘Wait for me,’ yells Robbie as his little legs go nineteen to the dozen trying to keep up with the others.
They race round the block and are soon turning the corner into Coronation Road, happy grins on their faces. ‘Cor, thanks Dad, thanks Uncle Frank,’ they chorus. Robbie catches up and adds his thanks. ‘It’s just like the one I had at the holiday camp,’ he observes. Coincidence that.
Dawn overcomes her cold shoulder as curiosity gets the upper hand and she marches into the front garden to find out what is causing all the whooping and hollering. She stands with hands on her hips, a scowl on her face as the boys hurtle past, round and round the block, overtaking little Robbie as they race each other. ‘Oh, that’s nice,’ she hisses, ‘I see you’ve treated the boys again. I don’t see any bikes for the girls anywhere.’
The men have not even turned in her direction but they exchange glances that say they must be in the doghouse again. ‘The girls are not interested in bikes,’ says Scotty, ‘they’re more interested in clothes and boys. I’ll give them a few quid; they’ll be okay with that. I’m sure they’d much rather choose for themselves. Anyhow what’s wrong with letting the lads have some fun? We were young once, or have you forgotten?’
Dawn stomps off, slamming the kitchen door behind her. ‘There’s no pleasing some people,’ says Frank, as the sound of the ice cream van chimes grows louder and the van turns into Coronation Road. ‘Fancy a ninety nine?’
Frank has learned his lesson from last time and orders ices for everyone pays the man and helps Scotty carry them indoors. Miraculously, the boys appear on cue and pile into the kitchen, eager to claim their ices. Dawn accepts hers without grace and takes the girls’ as well, disappearing into the front room and closing the door. ‘Has mum got the hump again?’ Whispers Robbie. ‘I think she might have,’ says Scotty as he takes two tins of beer from the fridge and hands one to his pal.
They finish their ices in the back garden, sitting on the rickety bench by the now weed-infested pond. ‘That fad didn’t last long then,’ observes Frank, ‘are there any fish left in there?’ Scotty pokes at the green slime with a bamboo cane, parting the blanket weed. There is a flash of red as a startled fish darts by before disappearing into the murk. ‘We could pull some of this stuff out,’ suggests Frank. He reaches a grubby hand into the slime and starts pulling out yards of blanket weed, which he deposits on the patio slabs. Scotty joins in and soon the water becomes clearer, with signs that the fish have survived quite well despite the neglect. There are even dozens of fry which must have hatched recently by their size and colour.
The men sit back to admire the results of their labour, forgetting the filthy stinking mess they have piled on the patio. After another few cans of beer each, they decide it is time to head for the club. They have some catching up to do. They have a quick wash and shave, change into their only lounge suits and head off before Dawn can stop them.