Scrap CH TWO part two

CH TWO 2
‘What’s Ma doing?’ asks Rosa as she hands a mug of tea to her brother who has just come into the kitchen from the yard. ‘I dunno,’ says her brother, warming his hands on the mug and blowing on the drink before taking a cautious sip, ‘you tell me.’ Rosa opens the door to the hall and indicates with her head in the direction of their mother’s bedroom. ‘She’s talking to herself,’ she explains, ‘she’s been doing it a lot lately and I don’t think it’s normal.’ Jason has not noticed, being totally wrapped up in his own troubles. ‘She’s not doing any harm,’ he reasons, ‘so don’t let it worry you. Maybe it helps her or maybe she’s talking to dad; I don’t know.’ Rosa is still wearing a worried expression and says that if it goes on much longer then ‘someone’ will have to have a word with her about it. ‘Don’t look at me,’ says Jason, ‘if she wants to talk to herself I’d just as soon let her get on with it.’
But Orla is not exactly talking to herself. She is practising for the talent competition which she has put her name down for at the Bay club and she wants to be word perfect on the night. She’ll show them all she is more than just ‘Ma’ and actually has a mind of her own. Won’t they be shocked when she steps onto the stage and launches into her act? She giggles to herself, like a naughty child, as she finishes fixing her hair before going downstairs for breakfast.
Nothing is said about her odd behaviour as Orla fries bacon and eggs in the big blackened frying pan and ladles out helpings to the gathering. ‘What are you doing today?’ she asks her son. ‘I’m down Harry Tobin’s,’ he replies, his mouth full of food, ‘we’ve got a tractor to take to bits ready for export.’ Rosa asks why they are going to all the bother of dismantling the vehicle when it has to be put back together as soon as it reaches its destination. ‘Why do you think?’ scoffs Jason. ‘Tobin is exporting farm equipment and tractor ‘spares’. The tax people can’t check every nut and bolt if it’s all been stripped down. Anyway, there’s no telling exactly where the tractors come from in the first place, if you get my drift.’
Rosa blushes; she should have known there would be something dodgy about any scheme with Tobin’s name on it. ‘Just make sure you don’t get caught,’ she warns.
It is almost 9am by the time Jason drives his mini pick-up into Tobin’s yard but there is nobody about and no lights on in any of the sheds. Prince knows him very well but still feels obliged to launch himself at him and bark loudly in his face a few times before returning to his comfy nest. Jason brushes himself down and rings the bell at the back door. ‘Come in, it’s open,’ he hears Carol’s voice shout from the kitchen.
Stepping inside and closing the door on the frosty morning, he looks round for Carol but there is no sign of her. Captain, the African grey parrot is rocking on his perch next to the sink. He lets out a guffaw of triumph, having claimed another victim. ‘Do come in,’ he repeats, ‘the door is open.’ He then proceeds to throw walnut husks at Jason, who gingerly puts his head out the living room door and calls up the stairs.
Carol stumbles out of bed and appears at the top of the stairs, rubbing her face awake. ‘What time is it?’ she mutters, ignoring the reply. ‘Can you make a start on your own Jay? Harry was called out with the tug at 2am so I had to get up and monitor the ship to shore radio. We’re knackered; the keys are in the knife drawer on the left.’ With that she goes back to bed, leaving Jason to start work on his own, which suits him as he can tune the radio to the station he wants.
He unlocks the shed where the partly dismantled Massey Ferguson stands like a sad carcass picked to the bones and turns on the lights. He tunes the radio and lights the stove, warming his hands as the sticks crackle and spit. He loads the stove with anthracite and half-closes the door. Prince is partial to a bit of warmth and creeps in behind him before he has time to shut the shed door. ‘Alright,’ he grins, ‘you can stay but you’d better behave yourself.’
Harry Tobin is very particular about keeping his tools of the trade clean and in the right place. ‘If you put things back after you use them you’ll always know where to find them,’ he has said every time Jason picks up a tool. When he thinks of the chaotic state of his father’s garage he wishes that he had taken the same approach. They would often waste hours searching for a torque wrench or a particular socket before they could get on with a job and Jason found it most frustrating. If ever he has a garage of his own it will be along the lines of this one, with everything laid out neatly in racks and in the place it is supposed to be.
There is something very satisfying in knowing that you can put your hand to any tool you need and just get on with the job. He selects a heavy wrench and begins work removing the power take-off, which has to be cleaned, wrapped in brown paper, labelled and stacked inside the packing crate marked ‘TRACTOR SPARES’. As he works he wonders how long it will take to rebuild the tractor; probably not as long as it takes to dismantle. Every part will be clean and oiled, ready to put back together.
As the morning progresses Jason mulls over an idea he has been toying with. When he gets his own place he will take in crashed vehicles, take any serviceable parts off them, clean and grease them, label and store them so they can be sold straight off the shelf. He reckons he can make far more money that way than Danny makes simply crushing them and selling the metal on to be smelted down. So many people have to repair their own vehicles he is sure he can make a mint from providing dynamos, wiper motors, body panels, everything really. By the time Harry Tobin appears at 11 am with coffee and biscuits Jason has decided that his will be the best, the most efficient breaker’s yard in the county. Not only that: it will be a legitimate business. He doesn’t mention his plan, not even to Harry, in case someone pinches the idea.
The men sit on old car seats, warming themselves by the stove, Prince wedged between their feet. He gives Jason a sly look as he puts a half-eaten biscuit on his knee so he can take a sip of coffee. Like a shot, the dog is up, the biscuit disappears into his mouth and both men laugh at his audacity. Jason makes a mental note to get two dogs of his own when he opens his yard. He will give them good, strong names and train them to do as he says. His dogs won’t be allowed to nick biscuits from a visitor’s knee.
‘Right, let’s get on,’ says Harry, ‘you’ve done well lad. We should get this lot packed away by the end of the day. It’s going in a container when it gets to Felixstowe, then all the way to Nigeria. They can’t get enough ‘tractor spares’ in Nigeria.’ No, thinks Jason, I bet they can’t.
Carol calls them indoors for lunch: platefuls of fish and chips from the shop down the road, with plenty of jars of pickle from which to choose. They quickly wash their hands, wiping the last of the grease on a tea towel, much to Carol’s annoyance. Another new tea towel for the rag bag, she notes. ‘How is it going?’ she asks, just to be polite. ‘Another couple of hours and it’ll be ready to go,’ says her husband. ‘This one’s a grand little worker,’ he adds, patting Jason on the back and causing him to blush with embarrassment.
‘How are things down at your place?’ asks Carol. Jason’s face clouds over and he shoves a large forkful of battered cod into his mouth to avoid answering straight away. ‘That bad, eh?’ Harry senses the awkwardness and changes the subject. ‘Did you ever come out with me on the tug?’ he asks, knowing full well that he has not. ‘The offer’s there if ever you fancy it.’ Jason declines, saying that he doesn’t have the stomach for seafaring.
The parrot starts squawking as someone rings the doorbell. Carol opens the door, thanks the postman and takes in the small parcel. ‘More of your mail order junk?’ grumbles Harry. Carol scowls at him as she opens the package and takes out the nightdress she has ordered for when she goes in to hospital to have the baby. ‘When do I get time to go shopping for clothes?’ she asks, ‘I’m stuck here every day looking after you.’ Captain lets out a stream of foul language at his lord and master and Harry laughs out loud at his mastery of Medieval English. They finish their lunch and make themselves scarce, leaving Carol to clear the table and inspect her purchase in peace.