Scrap CH THREE part 37

Scrap CH THREE part 37
‘Where’s Dawn?’ Mavis has been worried sick with no word having reached her of the crisis and has smoked at least 10 cigarettes since midnight which is when they said they would be home. ‘Fucking hell, I forgot all about her,’ replies her son-in-law, clamping a hand over his mouth. He phones through to the Bay club but there is no reply and he is just deciding whether or not to drive back there when Rosa’s car pulls up outside and a furious Dawn storms up the path towards him.
The ensuing scene is being observed by Robbie from the landing window and his heart sinks as he fears his plans for the morning have now been scuppered. Today will be his last chance to see his plan through and he is desperate for his dad to accompany him to the playing field in time for kick-off at 10am. He will need to use all his whiles to pull this one off.
Rosa is still shaking when she finally lets herself in to the kitchen where her mother is sitting trying to comfort the teething baby. ‘What time do you call this then?’ Rosa pulls her shoes off, sits at the table and massages her swollen feet. ‘Frank had a heart scare and they sent for an ambulance,’ she begins, ‘then after the doctor checked him and said he could go home I realised that nobody had thought about Dawn. She was standing shivering in the car park when I went back to pick her up. She was absolutely livid and went on about it all the way back to her place, didn’t even thank me for the ride. Mind you I can’t say I blame her when her old man went off to the hospital without a thought for how she was going to get home. Then we were driving back along the Low Road and I had to anchor up as we went round a bend to avoid the wreckage strewn across the road. Me and Dawn got out to see what we could do and another driver pulled up and said he would go to phone for an ambulance then we had to wait there while the fire brigade cleared the road to let us through.’
‘Good grief, who was it, was anyone hurt?’ Orla is glad that her daughter had not been caught up in the crash and her anger over waiting up has gone. Rosa leans back in her chair and sighs, ‘the driver of the Mk 10 Jag was Maurice Golding, the owner of the Bay club. He was paralytic but got out with barely a scratch on him. The people in the little Morris Minor were not so lucky; I don’t even know how many there were in the car it was so smashed up. None of them was moving though and the driver was obviously dead. Those poor people, it’s obvious what happened with Maurice being in the state he was in but as usual I suppose he will get away with it: his sort always do. The police didn’t even breathalyse him. I was worried they would do me but they just took a few details and let me go. I tell you Ma this has got me thinking.’
By breakfast time news of the fatal accident has spread throughout the area. Two of the occupants in the Morris Minor were pronounced dead at the scene and a third is in intensive care at the Medway Hospital. Inquiries are continuing to establish the cause of the accident. Scotty has nipped over the road to see how his pal is faring this morning and his knocking on the front door has woken the man. Frank lets him in and they go through to the kitchen where he makes his first brew of the day. Out of habit he looks about for a packet of cigarettes, and then half remembers his vow to give up smoking. Scotty has not forgotten and in sympathy he has not lit one for himself. ‘I tell you mate, that gave me a scare,’ Frank says as he rifles in a cupboard and brings out a packet of chocolate biscuits, ‘I’m really going to try giving up smoking this time.’ Scotty says they have all had a scare and says that he too is considering giving up. Dawn is all for it as she says they can buy all sorts with the money they would save.
They are halfway through the packet of biscuits when a small shadow appears in the glass panel above the back door. ‘Is my dad in there?’ Frank unlocks the door and Robbie comes in, carrying his football. ‘Do you ever think of anything else?’ Asks Scotty, ‘Not on a Sunday morning,’ the boy replies. ‘Let me finish my tea and I’ll be with you.’ Robbie shuffles from foot to foot, looks at his watch and sees that they have only five minutes to get to the playing field. ‘What’s the big hurry anyway?’ Frank wants to know, ‘you’re the one with the ball so you know the others will wait for you.’ He knows the lad has something more important on his mind and he also knows that Scotty is dreading having to tell Mr Mbele that he doesn’t have a job for him but he is trapped so he might as well get it over with. ‘Come on then, let’s get the match started,’ Scotty gives in and follows the boy at a brisk pace. He hates to disappoint the lad but you can’t always have what you want in this life.
The usual crowd are waiting at the playing field and a cheer goes up as Robbie lobs the ball in their direction then turns his attention to the important issue. ‘Dad, this is Mr Mbele,’ he says in his politest practised tone, ‘Mr Mbele this is my dad, Jim Stewart.’ The two men shake hands and briefly eye each other. Robbie has run off to organise a warm-up session, during which he expects business matters will be taken care of. ‘My daughter says that Robbie is trying to get me a job with your company,’ smiles Mr Mbele. Scotty sighs in embarrassment; ‘that boy: once he gets an idea into his head nothing will shift it. We don’t need any drivers at the moment Mr Mbele, we don’t even have the lorries until tomorrow morning and me and Frank will be driving them.’ The other man finds this amusing, he tells Scotty that his name is Onyisi, which means he is the first born of twins, and he doesn’t go in for formalities. ‘Perhaps we should have a chat after the game.’
Scotty takes on his usual role of referee and a boisterous game gets underway, with Precious eager to show off her skills to her father and Robbie desperate to impress her with his own. He has spent hours in the back garden taking penalties and with his new boots the ball tends to go in more or less the direction he intends, whereas before it was prone to be deflected by a loose seam on the instep. Spike Mullins has told the other lads that the black man is a talent scout from the Arsenal so everyone is doing their utmost to impress, with inevitable consequences.
By half time two of the players need treatment for bloody noses and Stinker Smith is sporting a bruised eye which will doubtless go black overnight. The injuries are treated with a splosh of cold water from the sponge bucket which Spike brought along as a symbol of their professionalism and after handing round a bag of toffees, which are snaffled by the vultures, the second half gets going.
Half a dozen of the smaller children have strolled over to watch their older siblings and call out encouragement from where the side-line should be. Spike whacks home a belter of a goal, which sends the keeper into a muddy patch as he stretches to save the ball and sets the audience into a fit of the giggles. He wipes the mud from his face, blinks away the dirt and throws the ball back out. Robbie is instrumental in the next goal, when he passes to Precious and she weaves past the opposition to score from ten yards out. Her father scares the little kids half to death as his voice booms out encouragement and the girl flushes with pride.
Stinker Smith is determined not to miss out and as the ball is replaced in approximately the middle of the pitch he scoops up the tap from Spike and dribbles full pelt towards the goal. Unfortunately he is trying so hard he slips on the mud and falls flat on his face, allowing the enemy to steal his thunder and score again at the other end.
By the time the final whistle blows the teams are puffed out, filthy and thirsty. They group round the talent spotter waiting for his words of wisdom, which he is happy to supply although he has no inkling that they believe him to be a famous scout. Spike says that the man needs time to decide who to put forward and suggests they disperse. ‘I’m sure he will let Mr Stewart know if he wants to see any of us again,’ he reasons.
Robbie takes Precious to one side so the adults can talk and hands over the toffee which he saved from half time. They sit on a broken bench out of earshot and the men resume their conversation. ‘Look I don’t know what Robbie has told you,’ Onyisi begins, ‘but he’s got it all wrong if he thinks I’m looking for a job. I’m only here on a visit, staying with my sister in Brixton. I wouldn’t dream of taking my daughter out of school in her final year. She’s happy here with Mrs Smith and I have no intention of uprooting her. Maybe next year when I’ve decided whether or not to move to England I will have to reconsider but I go back home tomorrow so this is the last day I can spend with her until Christmas.’
Scotty apologises for his son and hopes he hasn’t offended the man. He thanks him for coming to watch the kids play and says he hopes he enjoys the rest of the day. They call to their offspring and Robbie runs up with a hopeful smile on his face. As Onyisi takes his daughter’s hand he turns and bids father and son goodbye. ‘Incidentally,’ he says, ‘I’m not a lorry driver, I’m a chartered accountant.’