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

  Dave had only ever been used to proceeding straight on, back to the paddock, but today he was being directed towards the winner enclosure on the right. What he didn’t know was which bay he’d be occupying.

  He turned right, and his heart sank as Napier and Thomas were parked in the area reserved for first place, with Dave directed towards the second-place bay.

  He came to a halt and allowed his head to sink down onto the fairing. He’d given it absolutely everything, and one rubbish mistake had cost him dearly. And yet…

  “Fucking legend!” screamed Harry McMullan, slapping him on the back. “Dave, that performance was a pure delight!” he said, taking off his helmet. “We didn’t win, Dave, but you’ve got some fucking talent, my lad! That display was spot-on!”

  The words were appreciated, but they weren’t quite enough to remove Dave’s discontent.

  But he had no time to dwell as several microphones were thrust in his face. Chris Kinley was first, like a Manx panther.

  “Dave Quirk, you’ve just finished second at the Isle of Man TT! How do you feel?”

  Dave took off his helmet and was blinded for a moment by the camera flashes. “Chris,” he said. “I’m fucked and need a beer!”

  With that, Dave leaned towards Chris and planted a kiss on his beautiful bald forehead before buggering off in pursuit of the most-deserved beer he’d ever care to pass over his lips.

  Chris Kinley adjusted his rectangular spectacles, sniffed, and then called into his mic: “And there you have it, folks!”

  Dave didn’t have to look too far for his preferred tonic, for Stella had once again performed crowd-moving miracles as Frank, Stan, and Monty appeared at the front of the horde, and with Monty smartly armed with a beer at the ready. Stella arrived a moment later with Jessie, who’d been watching with Dave’s family.

  Dave fell into the throng, revived only by the beer which Monty thrust under his nose. “Dave, mate, I’m so chuffed right now, I can’t even…” said Monty with a breaking voice. “That was…” he went on, but he couldn’t finish as the tears ran freely down his face.

  Stan stepped up. “What he was going to say…” he began, but was afflicted then by the same complaint of watery-eyes-syndrome. “Nope, here they come for me as well…” he said weakly, letting the waterworks open up.

  Frank nodded in amusement. “Dave, we have nothing but pride for that performance.”

  “We’re fit to burst!” Stan interjected.

  “Well done!” Frank went on. “You truly are a legend, my friend, and one of the most outstanding people I’ve ever met!”

  “Legend!” Monty reiterated between happy sobs.

  The feeling of goodwill didn’t extend over the rest of the winners’ enclosure, with Andy Thomas and Jack Napier very eager to remind Harry McMullan of just who, in fact, had taken first place. And, were it not for the swift action and tree-trunk arms of Henk, then Harry would’ve very likely ended up in jail alongside his brother.

  Rodney Franks was also on the scene, offering a cringe-worthy dance routine for the benefit of the world’s press. It was uncomfortable to watch, as dancing came unnaturally to a man like Franks.

  “Here!” Franks shouted to Henk. “I just wanted to show you this!” Rodney came over and stuck a drawing under Henk’s nose. “This could have been yours, Henk. These are the plans for the new hotel. I’ll be sure to save you a room when it’s opened. Oh, and guess who’s going to appear on the wallpaper in the toilets? Yes, that’s right – you!”

  “A bet is a bet,” offered Henk with a conciliatory shake of the hand. “You won fairly and squarely, what more can be said? The highlight, for me, is this man here,” he said, pointing to Dave. “That is what the TT is all about, not some disease-infested hotel. When your hotel is opened, I am going to leave a very large faeces and not flush the chain!”

  Henk left Franks to his own devices in order to prevent himself from unleashing his shovel-like hands onto Rodney Franks’ face. “Did that threat work?” he asked of mechanic Abe Maddocks as they walked away.

  “It sounded just fine to me, boss. Just fine.”

  Dave smiled for the press from the second step of the podium, but the champagne didn’t taste as sweet as it should have. He peered down on the admiring faces looking back at him and he knew, given time, that the sense of disappointment he was feeling – for having come in only second, and for Monty not sharing the podium with him as well – would rightly be replaced by one of elation.

  All he wanted now it was all over was to get his leathers off, have a shower, and get drunk – really drunk – but as he ambled his way back to his awning, he was halted by the arm of a steward.

  “Dave Quirk! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” said the steward breathlessly.

  “Oh, sorry. I’d made a pit stop in the port-a-loo. I was just enjoying some quiet time spent drinking a beer on the toilet, whilst having a massive–”

  “Shit! You need to go back over to the post-race press conference, right now!” the steward said, offering him directions.

  “Aww, bollocks. Now I’ve got to sit next to them arseholes? I’m absolutely knackered. Can you at least get me another beer to help me through it?” Dave asked, like a true athlete.

  “Sure, Dave. I’ll bring it in for you,” said the steward obligingly.

  “Cheers.”

  Dave had never finished on the podium previously, so was unsure of the exact etiquette involved. He was first of the riders to arrive, as it turned out, for all the steward’s worry, and sat at the left-hand side of the table behind the slip of paper with runners-up written on it in black pen. He sat back, and if he was daunted by the attended press staring back at him, it certainly didn’t show.

  The illustrious Chris Kinley presented himself – being, as he was, the presenter – approaching the direction of the stage. “Dave,” he whispered, taking a slight detour over to where Dave was sat. “You’re in the wrong seat, mate.”

  Dave shrugged his shoulders, pointing to the slip of paper in front of him.

  “You’ve not spoken to your team?”

  “No,” said Dave. “I was on my way back to my awning to get blindingly drunk, if you must know. In fact, I’d just been enjoying a beer while sat in the port-a-loo, having a nice long–”

  “Shit!” said Chris Kinley.

  “Language, Chris…?” Dave chided, managing a grin despite his fatigue.

  Chris shook his head. “No, I meant, shit, you’ve not heard!”

  “Chris, I really like you, mate, but I’m tired, dirty, and sober. Out with it.”

  Chris reached over to the table, swapping Dave’s piece of paper with the one in the middle of the table, then leaned in further…

  “Dave, I’m not sure how to tell you this, so I’m just going to tell you…”

  Dave looked back at him, exhausted and his patience waning.

  “… but Napier and Thomas have been expelled from the race. When their bike went through scrutineering, something was found. I’ve not been sent through the details, but it was summat to do with oversized pistons. Dave, they’ve been disqualified, so the rest of the field have been bumped up a place.”

  Dave stared back at him, uncomprehending.

  “Dave, what I’m saying is… you’re a TT winner.”

  “Piiiss off,” replied Dave, mildly exasperated and too worn out for this sort of nonsense.

  Dave looked at Chris.

  Chris looked back at Dave, his expression unchanging.

  “Wait… so you’re not having me on?” asked Dave.

  “Dave, you’re about ten stone heavier than me and at least one foot taller, so, no, I’m not joking. The last thing I’d do is arse about with you, especially in regard to something like this. You’ve won the TT!”

  “Fucking hell!” screamed Dave, his fatigue instantly dispelled.

  He climbed on the table as he unfastened the top half of his leathers, took his beer and proceeded to perform some sort of happy-danc
e on the table, whilst singing, very badly, “We Are the Champions” by Queen.

  “That’s right! Dave Quirk! TT Winner! Yer lookin’ right at him!” he yelled out, pouring his own beer over his semi-naked torso in delight.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  W hat would ordinarily have taken at least twelve beers was accomplished in only four, the evening after the sidecar race, because he was so drained to begin with from both the exertion of the race and the excitement of the result. Dave Quirk, TT Winner, sat slumped in a chair in Frank and Stan’s garden. They’d mused the very night before if they would be sat sharing a beer with a TT winner, and now they knew the answer.

  “You must be very proud, Jessie,” said Frank, placing a gentle kiss on her cheek.

  “Like you wouldn’t believe, Frank,” Jessie answered him, and giving him a peck in return. “And what about you, then, considering all you’ve done for Dave and Monty? And whilst I’m tickling your ego, I’ve learned some other things about which you should be proud, yeah?”

  “Oh?” said Frank, blushing.

  Jessie patted him on the arm. “I’ve been speaking to Lee. You and Stan are big softies, deep down, aren’t you? He’s been telling me how you both got him off the street and also about the charity. It’s you two that should be very proud of yourselves.”

  Frank offered a bashful smile. “I’ve had a fortunate life, so I wanted to give something back.”

  Molly joined them, armed with two glasses of wine. “He’s not at all bad, are you, Dad?” she offered.

  “Stop it, you two, or I’ll get a big head!”

  Molly smiled as Jessie went off to mix with the others, leaving the two of them to talk.

  “She’s nice, Dad. I like her.”

  “What, why would you say that, Molly?”

  “Dad, I’m not stupid. Well, not today, at least. If you like her, then I’ll be awfully happy for you both. And it very much seems tonight like there is love in the Isle of Man air all around!” said Molly, glancing sideways.

  Frank looked over at Stan, stood with Monty, and took a fright.

  “No, not there,” Molly corrected him. “Over there,” she said, pointing to the porch, where Lee was presently sharing a kiss with Stella.

  “She’s like another daughter to me, Molly, Stella is. She may not be related, but I’ve known her since she was a little one. Craggy Sally would be pleased to know she’s met someone nice,” he confided wistfully. “I wish she could see her now.”

  “Jessie’s right, Dad. You really are a big softie, and I’m so happy that you’ve surrounded yourself with good people over here.”

  “Ay-up, did you say good people?” joked Stan, joining them. “And what about the rest of us?”

  Molly put her arm around both Frank and Stan. “I did, and I meant you included, Stan, you silly sod. It may be I’ve had a glass of wine or two, but I mean it when I say I love you very much, Stan. I’m fortunate to have had both of you in my life growing up. You and my Dad, I’m sure you’re both going to be very happy over here,” she told him, with the warmest of embraces. “Love is in the air, Stan. Hopefully it’ll be you next!”

  “Which man would put up with me?” he asked, flailing theatrical arms about.

  Stan looked directly at Frank with a determined expression. “Frank, I know TT only finished today, but I can’t stop thinking about next year. We can also put a team in for the Southern One Hundred in a few weeks.”

  “One step ahead of you, Stanley! We’ve got an appointment with Henk next morning to talk about the way forward. I didn’t have time to talk with him for long today, as he was off to find Rodney Franks with a massive smile on his face. I’m not sure what he was on about, but he said something about having a shit in his toilet. I’m not sure I could make sense of it. Anyway, we’ve got possession of a farm for a couple of years, which we need to get Lee and the charity involved with. Hell, we’re going to be busy over the next couple of years.”

  “And which is why I cannot afford for you to die just yet, Frank,” Stan reminded him.

  “I’ve no intention of it, believe me, though I can’t promise anything,” replied Frank, raising his glass. “Here’s to not dying!” he joked. “In fact, no, forget that. Here’s to living!”

  Frank glanced around the garden. He was in the mood for another toast and with the rattle of his ring on his glass, the floor was his.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he announced. “First, can someone kick him?” asked Frank, nodding in the direction of Dave, in blissful repose. It took two or three firm blows to rouse him, and a further moment for Dave to realise where he was.

  “Ladies and gentlemen!” Frank called out again, now that all were conscious and aware. He raised his glass. “I give you the magnificent Dave Quirk, a TT Winner!”

  “TT Winner!” came the collective reply.

  Frank walked over and took hold of Dave’s arm.

  “What, you want another cuddle, Frank?” asked Dave. “Haven’t you had enough already?” he said with a jolly laugh.

  “I’d never say no to another!” replied Frank, holding Dave’s hefty arm aloft in victory. “Hang on,” he said, something in his head clicking. “Remember when you got the tattoo? The one your mate did by picking a random picture from your phone? You never did end up showing us what it was. Let’s have a look!”

  “Oh, yeah. I didn’t, did I?” chuckled Dave. “I really shouldn’t have said I’d let him do this each year, and given him free reign. That may not have been the best idea, as it turned out. Well, are you ready for this?” he asked, slowly teasing up the sleeve of his t-shirt.

  His arm revealed a full-figured lady with her skirt riding up over her arse as she struggled to mount a rodeo bull.

  “Here, that’s not…” Frank began. “Is it? The rodeo bull in the beer tent when…?”

  “Stella climbed aboard? Sure is,” chuckled Dave. “The bastard really stitched me up with this one.”

  Frank looked over to Stella, and then back to Dave’s arm. “Tell you what, Dave, he hasn’t half captured the likeness with that one,” Frank remarked.

  “I know,” laughed Dave. “I thought having a half-naked woman tattooed on my arm would come in handy on cold winter nights, but I think I may struggle with this one.”

  Frank and Stan gave Dave a further cuddle, before Frank raised his glass once more between the three of them. “Can I just say it, once more?”

  “Wait there!” demanded Monty, who quickly joined the circle.

  Frank stepped aside and looked at Stan, Monty, and Dave, in turn. “And what a team it is. Here’s to good friends, bad tattoos, and a TT winner!”

  “Are we doing it again next year?” asked Dave.

  “Bloody right we are!” declared Frank. “I want to see you win another TT, and, more importantly, see how on earth your mate is going to better that tattoo. Cheers!”

  “Cheers!”

  I hope you enjoyed this book. If you did, you may also like the Lonely Heart Attack Club series – also based in the Isle of Man.

  You may check out my amazon author page here, for all my lovely books:

  www.amazon.co.uk/J-C-Williams/e/B01IRNGDNY

  As well as direct links to the other two Isle of Man-set books here:

  www.amazon.co.uk/Lonely-Heart-Attack-Club/dp/1548766429

  www.amazon.co.uk/Lonely-Heart-Attack-Club-Olympics/dp/1976456169

  And my previous book:

  www.amazon.co.uk/Seaside-Detective-Agency-Isle-Mystery/dp/1718680333

  And you might also have a butcher’s at my editor’s newest lavishly-illustrated book, for his own peculiar (don’t say I didn’t warn you) brand of humour.

  www.amazon.co.uk/Get-Some-Sleep-Dave-Scott/dp/1976262496

 

 

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