Frank 'n' Stan's bucket list - #2: TT Races - Poignant, uplifting and sublimely funny - one to put a huge smile on your face!

by J C Williams

  “We saw Henk this morning and he looked to be in high spirits, didn’t he, Stan?” asked Frank.

  “Sure did. So, the McMullan brothers only need to win one race and his Vincent is safe. They’re pretty much guaranteed to win at least one?”

  Frank nodded. “Yes, one race and his Vincent is safe. Oh, and his Aston Martin, although I still don’t think he knows that’s in there. The bet was about a clean sweep, so the victor has to win both races. But looking at the lap times, it would seem the McMullan brothers are going to be hard to beat in both races. In which case, Henk may well win himself a farm.”

  Stan appeared somewhat less than happy at this prospect. “Henk’s not really the farming type,” he said flatly.

  “Not to worry, Stan. I spoke to Henk,” explained Frank. “The only thing he’s after is winning both races, regardless of any bet. And the only thing he’s interested in, aside from that, is making Rodney Franks look like a tool.”

  “Franks doesn’t need much help there, though, does he?” offered Dave, who looked around impatiently to see when his own shoulder rub might arrive. “I’m not really interested in their bet, myself,” he went on. “All I care about is me and that fine specimen right there finishing in the top ten,” he said, with a finger to Monty. “And seeing as how Monty is hogging all the massage action for himself just now, I suppose I’ll head over to the shower block and clean myself up.”

  “Don’t forget to print the picture off!” shouted Monty.

  “On it,” replied Dave. “Our top-ten finish would be a lot more achievable with the two favourites suspended for bashing the hell out of each other!”

  Monty waited until Dave was out of earshot. “Don’t say anything, will you?” he asked. “Dave needs to have complete confidence in me and if he thinks I’m injured or not one hundred percent, it will give him a nagging doubt.”

  “You’ll be okay?” asked Frank.

  “I’ll be fine,” replied Monty, rubbing his leg. “Being stuck in a metal tube going a hundred and fifty when you’re only a couple of inches from the ground can cause a bit of bother when you’re recovering from a leg injury. I’ll be fine, though, guys. We’ll get that top-ten finish.”

  Frank sniffed the air. “Fancy a greasy burger and a pint, Stanley?”

  “You have to ask?”

  The pair of them walked towards the tent at the rear of the grandstand, where dozens of people stood nursing plastic glasses, perhaps talking about the evening’s practice session or more likely escaping from the noise inside.

  “Good god, what on earth is that noise? Is that coming from the pub?” Frank asked.

  “Is that karaoke?” rejoined Stan.

  Frank put a finger to his ear. “I hope so, or I’m calling the RSPCA because there’s a cat being tortured somewhere.”

  Ordinarily the bar would have thirsty patrons three or four deep waiting to be served, but they marched straight to the front. “That voice is doing us a favour,” remarked Stan, offering a cordial wave to the barman. “Two pints, please!” he shouted over the noise, licking his lips in anticipation.

  Frank leaned against a stool with a contented expression. There were a lot of similar expressions to be found in TT week – despite the present keening going on – evident as Frank looked around to the other patrons.

  Stan pressed a beer into Frank’s receptive hand. “You look happy, Frank,” he remarked.

  Frank took a sip, offering an agreeable nod. “I’ve got a cold beer in my hand and I’m at the TT with my dearest friend. And so I am. Say, you hear that voice?”

  “Couldn’t really miss that, Frank.”

  “Does it sound strangely familiar to you?”

  “It sounds strangely. Do you know something I don’t?”

  “Go and stick your nose around the corner and have a butcher’s,” Frank urged.

  Stan did as requested, and, rather than return with a grimace of abject horror regarding the mutilation of Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ on a Prayer,” he had the visage of a man who’d just watched his first-born graduate.

  Stan joined Frank back at his leaning post.

  “I didn’t know Stella sang karaoke?” said Stan, close to Frank’s ear.

  “Sing? You’re being kind there,” Frank answered with a laugh. “I think Stella’s found her people,” Frank added, that look of serenity back on his face.

  “How do you mean?” asked Stan

  “Look at her,” said Frank, with a nod in her direction. “Stella wouldn’t do that at home. Yes, she’s full of bravado. But, deep down, there’s a vulnerability there. She’s not self-conscious, but she’s been kicked that many times that it must start to hurt, eventually. Those faces,” continued Frank, pointing to the crowd near to Stella. “Look at them. There’s a genuine warmth. They’re not taking the piss out of her at all. Just the opposite, in fact. They look like they really want to be with her.”

  Stan put his arm around Frank. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen Stella smile like that, now you mention it. Well, at least not for a very long time.”

  “You’re not wrong,” Frank agreed, taking a mouthful of lager and exhaling contentedly.

  “I wasn’t sure about Lee and her at first,” Stan added. “But look at him. I think he honestly does like her.”

  “Do you ever think about her?” asked Frank.

  “Who?”

  “Craggy Sally… Sally.”

  Stan smiled. “Of course. Often.”

  “So do I,” said Frank. “She was a character. She put up with a lot, back then. We probably weren’t the easiest to work for.”

  “I’m not sure we’d have been a fraction as successful as we were had it not been for her, having her in our lives, I truly mean that. She kept us in check, that’s for certain. Well, she kept me in check, at least,” offered Stan fondly. He looked over at Frank. “Hang on, what’s this? Have you got a tear in your eye?”

  “Maybe. I’m getting overly emotional lately. I’m blaming the Isle of Man beer. Sally would be proud of her granddaughter, wouldn’t she!” remarked Frank, as a statement of fact rather than a question. “Do you think we’ve done what we promised?”

  “Looking after Stella?”

  “Yes.”

  Stan thought for a moment. “I’m not sure if it isn’t Stella looking after us,” he said, his eyes getting a bit misty as well. “But, yes. She’s not everyone’s cup of tea, but she’s loyal and honest. Sally would be proud of her. Should we go and say hello?”

  “Let’s leave, shall we?” suggested Frank. “Leave her to her new friends? We’ll finish this pint and go and get that greasy burger.”

  “You sure you don’t want to hang around for the next song? Stella’s downing her pint and looks poised for another rendition!”

  Frank drained the contents of his pint, double quick. “It’s a tempting offer, Stan…” he said, looking at the watch he didn’t have on. “Stan, you know tomorrow, for the practices?”

  Stan pointed to his ears, then indicated for Frank to hold that thought until they’d escaped the feline being tortured, so to speak, for a second time.

  “Say again?”

  Frank cleared his throat and looked rather sheepish. “I was saying about the practices tomorrow. Would you mind if the two amigos became three for the night?”

  “Of course not, why?”

  “I was going to invite Dave’s mum. If you don’t mind?”

  “Frank, why would I mind, you silly twit?”

  “I just didn’t want you to think that…”

  Stan slapped Frank’s arm. “Think what? That we’re not exclusive? Perish the thought! Frank, I just want you to be happy, and if Jessie can make you happy, then I’m happy.”

  Frank handed over a ten-pound note.

  “Two cheeseburgers, please.”

  “You’ll need more than that up here, Frank. A tenner will probably buy you just the cheese!”

  “That better be some damn fine cheese, then,” Frank replied with a ch
uckle.

  Frank rifled through his wallet. “So you won’t feel like a spare wheel?” he said, serious again.

  Stan’s expressive left eyebrow answered well enough that question on his behalf, no further words necessary. “So,” was all he said, after a moment.

  “So, what?” asked Frank, busying himself dispensing notes like a cashpoint.

  Stan smirked. “So what does Dave think about all this?”

  “I’m going to tell him, honestly! But I don’t want to give him any distractions at the moment.”

  “That’s what I always say about you, Frank, you’re nothing if not considerate. One question, though, if I may?”

  “Anything, old chum,” offered Frank, eager to please.

  “Dave doesn’t have an uncle you can introduce me to, by any chance?”

  “I’ll be sure to ask!” said Frank with a laugh. “Now that would be an entertaining conversation to have with Dave, wouldn’t it? It would definitely take some of the heat off me. And that would, I think, be a rather unique double date, Stanley.”

  “Unique? I think Dave would need counselling.”

  “You mean more than usual?”

  Chapter Twenty

  F riday night of practice week was the final opportunity for valuable track time ahead of the first races on Saturday. The Island had been blessed with glorious weather all week with not one practice session lost to the elements, but there was time enough to make final adjustments to eke out that extra mile an hour with the optimum set-up.

  For Dave and Monty, the weight on their shoulders was lightened by having already qualified for race day by virtue of their impressive lap times in practice. They hovered just outside the top ten, but the indications were that a finish higher up the leaderboard was absolutely possible.

  Dave’s knowledge of the track was considerable, but he never stopped honing his skills. The ability to know where you could keep her pinned in sixth, for instance, rather than dabbing the brakes, dropping her down a gear, and losing valuable momentum into the next sector was crucial. You never stopped learning and complacency was reserved for fools. And you might be the most seasoned campaigner on the start line, but this course changed each year as well. The yellow gate you used as a braking marker previously could now have been painted red, for example, or the phone box which told you when to attack the corner could simply have been removed or partially obscured by an unkempt hedge. If you were overconfident, this course had the ability to bite back, and bite back hard.

  The sun hung low in the sky and the breeze was absent, while the same, sadly, could not be said for the midge population who were in attendance, mob-handed. Stan flapped his hand like a hummingbird’s wing as the little blighters locked in on his position, but his defence was to no avail.

  The course was littered with vantage points, and for many a spectator a fair few hours had likely been spent deliberating over a pint as to which one was the best – but there was no one correct answer. Each and every location had its own unique charm.

  Union Mills Church, in particular, gave the audience on the church lawn a view up to the Railway Inn where the bikes negotiated a sharp right-hand bend before most took to the air, landing just in time to tip her into the left-hander as you opened the throttle to gain maximum velocity into the flat-out Ballahutchin.

  Stan handed over a cup of tea, “This is some spot, Frank. They’ve got cake and everything in there,” he said, thumb pointing back in the direction of the church hall. “You, eh, a bit nervous, Frank? Only you’ve not stopped fidgeting since we arrived. Where’s Jessie? She seems to have gone missing. She hasn’t buggered off already, has she?”

  “I’m fine,” replied Frank, wiping moisture from his forehead. “And she’s just taking a call.” Frank leaned closer to Stan’s ear. “I’m just a bit nervous about this whole dating thing. Which is irrational and pathetic, I know – I’m a grown man!”

  “Jessie’s really laid-back, Frank. She’s actually pretty funny, also. I like her.”

  Frank nodded. “I know, I think that’s why I’m nervous, because I quite like her.” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, uneasily. “Stan,” he whispered. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to get–”

  “Say no more,” replied Stan, offering a knowing wink. “Just pop along to the chemist. You don’t even need a prescription now, and, trust me, they’ll have you back on parade before you know it.”

  “Cheeky bugger! That’s not it!” protested Frank, loudly at first, but then lowering his voice when two neighbouring women took a step away to distance themselves.

  “Everything is working just as it should, thank you very much,” he went on. “Granted, it’s been on somewhat of a sabbatical of late. I just meant that– Here, will you stop looking at my crotch, Stan?” Frank protested, using his TT programme to shield from view the focus of Stan’s attention. “Anyway, Stanley, you certainly seem to know an awful lot about the subject?”

  Stan made a show of puffing out his chest, swelling with pride. “We all need help from time to time, Frank,” he said, running a hand through his professionally-enhanced mane. “Sometimes you just need a little assistance to get your flag to unfurl.”

  “But… you’re single.” Frank shuddered, musing on the solo application.

  “Always be prepared, Frank,” suggested Stan, with an insightful tap of the index finger on his temple. “The Boy Scouts taught me that. Besides, you never know when your situation may change and you don’t want to disappoint! Boy Scouts, Frank.”

  “Yeah, probably not the best context in which to reveal your Boy Scout training!”

  “The sidecars are heading off in a few minutes,” announced Jessie, back in the group and saving what was turning into an awkward conversation. She had a pocket radio pressed to one ear, and her outdated mobile phone was to the other. She took a position between Frank and Stan, and, once done with her phone, weaved her arms into theirs and did a little happy-dance on the spot.

  “Everything okay, Jessie?” asked Frank. “Just that you looked a bit stressed on the phone. It wasn’t Dave, was it?”

  Jessie took her arms back so she could pull out her phone once again. “Dave’s fine, he sent me a text about an hour ago saying he and Monty were having fun times, which I took to mean all is well. Who even talks to their mother like that?”

  The pair of them shook their heads and tut-tutted to her in sympathy, though, in truth, neither understood what exactly the problem was.

  Jessie’s face hardened. “Anyway, I keep trying to reach my cousin June. I was trying to call her when Dave texted, in fact, but she wouldn’t pick up. And I keep checking but she’s not gotten back to me and I’ve no idea why. This isn’t like her at all. Either I’ve managed to upset her somehow or something has happened.”

  “Ah,” said Stan, with a nod in acknowledgement. Men often gave this nod as a way of saying, I hear you and no further explanation required. Whereas women often mistook this gesture as, please tell me all about it, and don’t leave out a single detail. It was a balancing act for the male population; with no gesture of empathy, one was considered rude, but too much interest and you were opening yourself up to several minutes which you’d never recover, ever.

  “What happened?” asked Frank, who clearly hadn’t read the script judging by the angle of Stan’s left eyebrow.

  “Her dog died, poor dear, and quite rightly she’s devastated. She’s had the little fellow since he was a puppy,” explained Jessie. “Anyway, after a couple of texts she called me something I don’t feel terribly comfortable repeating. And then nothing since,” she said, checking her phone for messages once more. “Still nothing. I don’t even know what I’ve done to offend her!”

  “May I?” asked Frank, holding out his hand to her.

  Jessie handed over her phone, nodding her head. “Of course. Here you go. Maybe you can make sense of it all, because I certainly can’t.”

  Frank scrolled his way through the text message conversati
on, and, in spite of his best efforts to hold it at bay, a smile swept its way across his face.

  “What?” she said. “What’s so funny?”

  “Jessie…” Frank answered, struggling to contain his laughter. “You do know what L-O-L means?”

  Jessie appeared slightly offended. “Of course I do,” she replied. “It means lots of love. Everybody knows that.”

  Frank wasn’t even trying to hold back his laughter once he’d reread the messages yet again. “Oh, Jessie, I’m sorry,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, but this is absolutely priceless. I can see why she’s a little cross with you at the moment!”

  The look on Jessie’s face said that she wasn’t at all clear what the joke was about.

  “Jessie, I hate to break this to you, but L-O-L means laugh-out-loud, and not lots-of-love.” Frank was now wiping a tear with the back of his hand. “Oh, my,” he continued. “Oh, my,” he said again, and then reading aloud for Stan’s benefit as well as to play the words back to Jessie:

  “Jessie, one more thing,” said Frank, finger pointed at the screen. “You see this little thing? I think they call it an emoji.”

  “Yes, sad face,” declared Jessie.

  “Yes, well…” Frank began, trying to be as gentle as possible. “That’s not the sad face, actually.”

  Jessie moved in for a closer inspection. “But it is. Look, there’s tears on its face, it’s in anguish, poor wee thing.”

  Frank shook his head. “Sorry, Jessie, only that’s an emoji you use when’s something really tickled you. They’re tears of laughter, see?”

  “Oh,” she said. “Oh, dear.”

  “Yes. Your cousin told you her dog’s died and you not only laughed-out-loud but added in a tears-of-laughter symbol for good measure!”