I believe the name she chose for the company is partly the reason it is successful. She called it Bee’s Knees Honey.
‘So, what is his new idea?’ I asked.
‘Solar panels.’
‘Solar panels? What does Greg know about solar panels?’ I quizzed.
‘‘More than you do!’
I snorted loudly as a reply.
Sally ignored my sarcasm and continued, ‘Oil is going to run out, Eddie – you are aware of this? The summers are getting hotter – this you definitely know; look at the upturn in your bookings. We need to use sustainable energy, solar power being one of the options. He has done research; there is a gap in the market.’
‘What research? Where is there a gap?’
‘This is what we are going to discuss tomorrow. Eco-Lites is the name we have decided on.’
‘So you are not meeting up to discuss how you can lose more money again?’
‘Eddie!’ she responded irritably.
‘Well, how much is it going to cost? We don’t have a bottomless pit of money to waste, you know.’
‘I don’t know how much, that’s why we are meeting up.’
‘I thought you were meeting up to discuss the “gap in the market”?’
Sally rolled her eyes and went to speak, but I interrupted her.
‘So, is he putting his own money in this time? Fifty-fifty? Sixty-forty? What was it, Sally?’
‘That is my business!’
‘It’s our money!’
‘No, it’s my money!’ she spat.
The discussion was rapidly turning angry.
‘I always thought it strange how all these “once-in-a-lifetime” opportunities only materialised in Greg’s mind after your father’s death. Nothing when he was alive.’
‘Eddie, he is my brother, it is my money; I will do what I want!’ she yelled at me.
‘Sally, it is our money,’ I repeated.
‘Mine! Mine! Mine!’
‘Oh, that is a very grown-up response, Sally,’ I returned, knowing it would hit her. She deplores being told she is immature.
‘At least he is trying to do something; he’s got ideas. Not like you, doing your card tricks and balloon animals for years and years!’
For the second time today, she stood with her back to me at the sink, before turning and walking past me out of the kitchen in silence.
And at this point, as on so many other numerous occasions, I felt a perverse level of comfort in the degradation thrown out by her to me. I stood, my eyes unfocused on the world around me, my mind and memories again tumbling and turning.
‘Coming to load the van, boy?’ I asked Henry brightly, trying to raise myself from the crumpled position the argument had left me in.
Henry lifted his head and beat his tail on his bedding five times before regaining his previous blissful pose on his side.
‘Traitor!’ I cursed at him as I retreated through the back door to my van on the driveway.
I looked at the graphics painted on the wing of the van – the bouncy castle, the balloon models and the words The Party King in red and yellow letters – and banged my fist hard against it, stirring a low thud in the empty hollow inside. I opened the driver’s door, pulled it shut with force and on sitting down, repeatedly thumped the steering wheel in my pent-up frustration.
‘Now who is being immature?’ I eventually asked myself as I turned the ignition and missed first gear with a grinding crunch.
Chapter 3
Summer Fete Bouncer
The drive to the lock-up takes about ten minutes. I was alone, but even if I had had company, I would not have bothered with conversation. My thoughts consumed me, tormented me, leaving me unable to explore the path to reconciling my differences with Sally.
Yet, as I drove, my mood lifted partially, so that by the time I swung the van into Clifford’s yard and parked up, the words You are a good man, Eddie Dungiven came back to me again, uttered in my mind from a beautiful mouth with perfect teeth.
Clifford Wilson has rented the lock-up to me for the past sixteen years. Well, I say ‘rented’ to me in the loosest possible sense. My payments over the years have included performing magic shows for his two nephews at Christmases and birthdays and lending my equipment for free at the annual farmers’ country show. Clifford and his wife Mary do not have any children themselves.
I met Clifford for the first time on Christmas Day morning seventeen years ago, our first Christmas in the house, a month after we had moved in. Obviously, this was long before Henry was around to announce any arrivals at our property and Clifford guided his Land Rover to the back door without us being aware, although we were in the kitchen, preparing the Christmas lunch. Only the sound of the car door closing and heavy feet upon the gravel alerted us to the fact that we had a visitor. I opened the back door with curiosity and was confronted with the presence of a formidable man. His outstretched hand and smile confirmed the goodwill of this stranger. As we exchanged a solid handshake, my hand was dwarfed in his as he introduced himself. The hardness and roughness of the skin on his fingers and hand hinted at the manual and outdoor work his life path had included.
Clifford’s appearance that day was to welcome us to the community and to invite us up to his farm for food and drinks during the Christmas holidays. We took him up on the offer and headed out the day after St Stephen’s Day and found Clifford and Mary to be perfect hosts. Their welcome was totally genuine, their farmhouse warm and cosy as logs crackled and spat in the wood-burning stove as the December wind howled and screeched into the dark, cold night outside. It was after turkey and ham sandwiches, home-made cakes and tea that the opening of a bottle of single malt occurred and Clifford asked me what I did for a living. As Sally looked on proudly, I told Mary and him that I was a children’s entertainer, the Party King, performing at birthday parties, Christmas and special occasions. Clifford slapped his huge hand hard on his thigh and bellowed an enormous, happy laugh, as he tilted his head toward the ceiling. He suddenly sat forward and asked excitedly what my act entailed, while Mary smiled next to him, looking at me.
‘Well, I begin with a magic show – making things disappear and reappear, card tricks, coin tricks and balloon modelling – and I finish with a disco,’ I stated, feeling suddenly awkward in front of this ‘man’s man’ of a farmer and his polite wife.
‘That’s wonderful!’ he laughed. ‘Show us a trick, Eddie!’
‘I don’t have any props with me, Clifford,’ I protested.
‘Mary! Where is that pack of cards we never use?’
‘Why don’t you have a man’s look for them, Clifford?’ Mary teased her husband.
He attempted to retaliate, but stopped as Mary got up with a chuckle and tapped his knee playfully before heading out of the room.
She returned in a few minutes sheepishly claiming the pack could not be found. Clifford was extremely disappointed at this. So I offered to go out to my van, where I knew I had a new gaff pack in the glove compartment, this news brought a smile to Clifford’s face. I raced out into the foul weather as quickly as possible to retrieve the pack but when back in the warmth of the farm house, I felt incredibly nervous as Clifford and Mary stared at me expectedly. Sally noted my apprehension and squeezed my arm for reassurance. Performing to primary school children who would applaud anything remotely exciting was a very different proposition to two adults watching intently my every single move.
I took the cards in my hand, and as I began to shuffle them, all my fears evaporated as the performance commenced. I decided to perform Sally’s favourite trick, simple but effective.
After laying out four aces face up in separate piles and adding three additional cards on top of each, Clifford was left holding, as intended, four aces, which he had seen form part of the separate piles moments before.
‘That was brilliant!’ Clifford, Mary and Sally clapped.
‘Thank you – it’s called McDonald’s Aces!’ I responded.
‘Do another for us?’ requested Mary.
Three card tricks later, and with Mary and Clifford muttering to each other, ‘I don’t know how he did that’, I decided to stop.
‘I don’t know about kiddies, you should perform to adults,’ Clifford commented.
‘Really?’
‘Certainly!’ came back Clifford, with Mary nodding by his side.
‘I’ve told him this before!’ interjected Sally.
‘Okay, okay! I will think about it!’
‘You should, really, it’s a talent,’ stated Mary.
‘Actually, I was thinking of expanding and starting doing bouncy castles and inflatables as well for the parties,’ I stated, trying to change the subject.
‘I’ve seen those things!’ laughed Clifford. ‘Sounds like a great idea, would love to have a go on one myself!’
We all laughed at the thought of this huge man bouncing up and down on a rubber castle painted with storybook characters.
‘It’s the storage of the things that is the problem. I don’t have the room,’ I said.
‘Well, I have here. Lots of space: the barn, outhouses, a lock-up. You are welcome to use it.’
‘That’s very kind, but we can’t do that!’ said Sally.
‘Nonsense! It is my pleasure. I would show you the space tonight, but that wind out there is something else.’
‘Okay, let’s talk about it all properly in the New Year, Clifford.’
‘What is there to talk about?’
‘Well, rent to begin with – how much do you want for it?’ I asked.
‘Oh, we will work something out.’ Clifford waved the question away. ‘In the meantime,’ he continued with a giggle, ‘how about showing us another magic trick?!’
And since that first encounter, Clifford’s enthusiasm for the tricks has not in any way diminished. It really was his drive and persistence that convinced me to branch out and perform magic shows for an adult audience too, and I advertised in the following spring. It took time for the bookings to start to build, but now a third of my work takes me to birthday, engagement and anniversary celebrations in restaurants, pubs and retirement homes.
Up until two years ago, at the annual country show, he was always the first person to throw off his shoes, clamber on board an inflatable and bounce wildly with arms flailing around, giggling like a small child. You could have called it a kind of a tradition. But last summer, he wasn’t standing next to me, willing the bouncy castle to life. Although it was strange for him to not be by my side as the inflatable reached its full height and became ready for the inaugural bounce, I presumed he was busy elsewhere, doing something else at the show. I delayed as long as possible, sending out two messages over the public address system for Clifford to head over to the bouncy castle, which only seemed to attract children to the area, who proceeded to circle the inflatable like ravenous sharks. I am used to keeping children entertained, but eventually I realised that jokes, songs and silly voices could no longer compete with a forty-foot yellow slide with separate bouncing area, I had to allow the children on.
I selected a troop of excited preschoolers first, knowing their interest would be minimal and they would want to come off before the bigger children invaded and conquered the structure. Clifford arrived moments later, claiming he had not heard the messages. However, his timing of arrival was so precise, it was as if he had been watching and waiting. He did sound genuinely disappointed to have missed ‘his turn’, but argued it was not fair for the waiting kiddies if he had a go at that point. Exactly the same scenario occurred this summer too.
By the time I had turned off the engine and opened the door, Clifford was walking across the yard toward me. After fifteen extra years of summer sun and winter wind and rain, his face now resembles the texture of knarred wood, every crease and wrinkle seemingly crafted by the effects of the weather.
‘How are you, Eddie?’ he asked as I closed the door.
‘Okay,’ I lied, trying to keep my true feelings to myself as I walked toward the lock-up.
Clifford looked into the cab. ‘Not got your pup with you?’ he asked with disappointment.
After five years Clifford still refers to Henry as a pup. This is probably due to his continued immaturity, which Clifford does exploit with his use of key words to send Henry into a frenzy whenever he sees him. To Henry the phrases ‘Where’s your ball?’ and ‘Are you coming?’, uttered in a hurried, excited voice, are enough to send him rushing around the yard before stopping and staring at us, his head tilted to one side with his tongue half exposed over his jaws, before he continues his erratic chase once more. Clifford is the one person who doesn’t mind Henry’s behaviour toward his own dogs. He actually laughs at Henry’s stand-offs with his Border collie, Ben. Ben, being much older and set in his ways, is used to working with sheep that always run from him. He is curious about the younger male’s attitude, but not thrilled with the nips he endures when the cross-breed gets excited. As Ben submits, Clifford always tells him to not be such a wimp. His other dogs do not really bother much with Henry, keeping themselves in the barn or on the far side of the yard, sniffing and investigating; content within their own worlds.
It was Clifford who persuaded me to give Henry a home. He believes that in country life all animals have a job to do and they are not pets. On Clifford’s farm, Ben works with him controlling the sheep, in particular moving the ewes and the lambs up to higher ground in the late spring to feast on the newly shooting heather on the slopes that surround his home. This effort gives the lambs’ meat a tender taste when they are sold for slaughter later in the year.
A younger Border collie, Alfie, now rides in the Land Rover with Ben and Clifford too. He will in time take over from Ben. Clifford maintains that within any litter of Border collies, one will be an exceptional sheepdog, while the others will not have the temperament necessary to trust them entirely with lambs. Alfie has already demonstrated that he has the attributes to succeed Ben. Although I have asked Clifford, I have never been sure what happens to the remaining rejected puppies from a litter.
In Clifford’s barn, three Jack Russells live. Patch, Bobby and Molly deter rats, drawn by the abundance of animal feed, from being around the yard, and if any are caught they are killed swiftly in the dogs’ jaws with a violent shake of the head that breaks the rats’ necks. The three never tire of their duty.
Two cats patrol the barn and outhouses for smaller vermin –– and are rewarded daily with substantial leftovers from Mary’s kitchen.
A peep of chickens provide fresh eggs for Clifford, Mary and their friends and neighbours, and three geese act as boundary protection, their territorial instinct a perfect deterrent to any unsuspecting intruder.
In Clifford’s eyes Henry also served a job. Not a job that could be categorised in his own domain, but a job nonetheless: to provide Sally and me with a focus to love and enable us to move on. But to me he is a pet.
‘No, he’s not with me today, Clifford. Henry couldn’t be bothered to get up,’ I stated, pulling up the steel shutter of the lock-up.
‘You have him ruined, letting him sleep inside! He has a thick coat for a reason, you know,’ replied Clifford with a grin.
I ignored his response and flicked on the light switch inside and waited for the fluorescent lighting to flash and buzz into life, its power illuminating the contents within. The world of the Party King.
‘Are you around tomorrow, Eddie? I want to ask you a favour,’ continued Clifford, seemingly unaware of my mood.
‘I have three jobs tomorrow: two bouncy castles and a magic show. Why, what’s up?’
‘I need to replace some fence posts in the back field; sheep go
ing in. Meant to do it weeks ago, but you know me, sidetracked by all manner of other things around the place. I wondered if you would use the post driver , as my shoulder is still playing up.’
‘If I am back in time, certainly – if not is Monday okay?’
Clifford nodded in response, and I knew and respected that the excuse of his shoulder injury was to cover up the shortness of breath the medical professionals call ‘the angina symptoms’ he was sure to endure in continually lifting and pounding the driver -onto the tops of the posts. The same symptoms that have sadly confined his summer fete bouncing to memory.
Not so many years ago, he would have been able to keep up with me in any manual task despite the thirty-year age gap between us. But in recent years a lifetime’s diet of fried food, weekends drinking bitter and working with harsh chemicals around the farm have caught up with him to such an extent that he has to be careful of the level of work he can undertake. Thankfully for Mary and the doctors he has been sensible in his approach and will use a younger, more able workforce when necessary. This is only fair and just for someone who has spent the first part of their life looking after and helping others.
Chasing the Sun with Henry Page 3
