by Joe Mitchell
"You'll need to give me your number so that I can give you a ring when you go back," said Paul as he walked along with his arm around Carol.
"I can't," Carol answered. "My Mum would kill me if she thought I had a boyfriend down here. She's really funny when it comes to blokes ringing up. But you could write to me if you wanted."
Paul was not usually one for letter writing, but he was more than willing to make an exception for this young lady. "All right, but you've got to write first, " he said with a smile.
Carol laughed. "Okay then."
"And don't forget to find out about jobs on the boats. As soon as I get a bit of money together, I'll be coming up the M1 like a rocket!"
Back in the pub, the pool table was still attracting everyone's attention. Only Billy was sitting at the table, contemplating how quickly the machine had taken every single token back off him in half an hour flat.
"Have a nice walk over the park did we?" shouted Tony with a smile on his face that went from ear to ear. Even an elbow in the ribs from Debbie didn't wipe it away.
"Yes, thank you!" replied Carol with a sarcastic tone in her voice. Paul said nothing, choosing to prop up the bar and wait to be served. He bought a round and took it over to the table. "Feeding time!" he shouted, and slowly but surely the pool table lot made their way back to their seats.
"I think I know where I went wrong," piped up Billy out of the blue.
"Shut up, you plonker!" was Trev's answer to his spark of inspiration. "You've as much chance of beating those machines as I have of shagging Tina Turner so keep it buttoned unless you've something interesting to say."
"No, seriously," said Billy, refusing to be put off. "Anyone got any tens so I can teach it who's boss?"
Everyone just fell about laughing at that one - except Billy of course. Paul was the only one to put his hand in his pocket. "Here you go, mate. Here's ten pence - go and phone all your mates!"
It might have been an old one, but it was enough to start another round of laughs at Billy's expense. Not that it bothered him. He gladly accepted the coin and was back over at the fruit machine before you could say Gambler's Anonymous. "This week the Red Lion, tomorrow Las Vegas!" he boomed as the coin saw him back on his winning streak with a 50p win for three pears.
The rest of them sat around for another twenty minutes and then Debbie announced it was time for her and Carol to call it a night. Tony and Paul put their jackets on, said farewell to the others, and were soon walking the girls home.
As they got to Debbie's front gate, Paul gave Carol a kiss. "I wish you were coming home with me," he whispered.
"So do I, but I'll still see you tomorrow won't I?" Carol leant forward and kissed him again.
"Yeah, four o'clock on the dot."
Paul stood there and watched the best thing that had ever happened to him walk up Debbie's pathway. As the two girls reached the door, they turned and waved goodbye. As he waved back, Paul realised that he didn't give a fuck what his mate's said. His future was definitely in Hull with Carol.
Chapter 5
PAUL had known Carl Wallis since they were both knee high to a grasshopper. Carl had been a skinhead during 2 Tone's heyday, but had grown out of it long before he'd left school. He didn't even go to football, but Paul still saw his mate as regular as clockwork for a chat and a few beers.
Carl was also the reason why he couldn't meet Carol until four o'clock. He was up in front of the magistrates at West Malling for a breach of the peace offence, following an argument outside a pub in the town two months previous, and Paul had said he'd go along with him for moral support.
The worst thing about West Malling was the distance the station was from the town's centre. All up hill too, and by the time they reached the court building there was only minutes to spare.
An official looking old boy told them to take a seat until Carl's case was called, but within seconds, Carl was on his feet again, saying he needed to take a pee. While he was gone, Paul noticed a lady looking over at him. She was in her thirties, smartly dressed and very attractive with it. It must have been that new aftershave, but even if he said so himself, Paul was certainly pulling the birds these days. And without even trying.
He gave her a little smile, wondering whether she was after a bit of rough while her old man was away on business or something. Little did he know that she was just an off-duty policewoman who had to give evidence in the case after Carl's. She thought she recognised Paul from a shoplifting case from a few months before, and wondered what he'd been up to this time. Getting him into her bed was the last thing on her mind. Still, no point popping the boy's bubble, and he continued to sit there, wondering how he would play it if she made a move.
Carl's return from the bogs soon ended his train of thought. "I hope I don't get too big a fine," Carl said, blocking Paul's view of his bit of skirt.
"No, you'll be okay mate. Just say fuck all, look as if you could burst into tears at any moment and apologise at the end of it all."
There wasn't time for any more last minute nerves. The court doors opened, a few suits came out, and the clerk called for Carl Stephen Wallis to take his place in front of British justice.
As Paul followed the case from his seat in the near empty public gallery, he quickly began to realise that Carl's version of events was wildly different to that of everyone else giving evidence in the case. Carl had told him he had just left a pub after a quiet night's drinking, and had been lifted by two over-zealous young plods looking to boost local arrest statistics.
The first officer who took the stand must have been forty if he was a day. Not exactly the Young Policeman Of The Year candidate described by Carl. And according to his little notepad, he had apprehended the defendant after seeing him attempting to smash a shop window with a metal dustbin that had been ripped from a nearby lamp-post. Only a combination of toughened glass and Carl's drunken state had prevented it going straight through and into an expensive display of china plates.
The old lady who had been walking her dog, the councillor passing in his car, and the other police officer, all claimed to have seen Carl trying to smash the shop window too. Either they all had a personal grudge against Mr. Wallis or he had been economic with the truth when describing what happened to Paul.
But that wasn't the end of the matter. Apparently Carl had then resisted arrest and had used threatening behaviour towards the two police officers. Following a brief scuffle, he had to be restrained on the ground until a police van arrived with four other officers before he could be carted off to the local cop shop.
Carl listened to the evidence in silence, doing his best to look like he was about to burst into tears at any moment. Mind you, if his acting had been any more wooden, Eastenders would have been after him to run the Queen Vic.
When Carl was finally given his chance to speak, he didn't exactly do himself any favours either. "I wasn't doing nothing," he said. "The police just nicked me for no reason. I came out the pub and ended up copping the blame for something some other bastard did."
The old crow of a judge was obviously not impressed by what she saw before her. Carl was wearing jeans, trainers, t-shirt and a hip-length leather jacket. He had also made the mistake of being a young working class male.
"Mr. Wallis, may I remind you that you aren't on the football terraces now and I won't accept bad language in my court room."
"Sorry, your honour," Carl said in a valiant attempt to save the day, "but I've been stitched up by the police. I had only just left the pub when they started picking on me, blaming me for this and that."
"And why would the police want to do that to you?" asked the increasingly impatient magistrate.
"They've just got it in for me. They must have seen me as an easy nick or something. Maybe he's looking for promotion," said Carl, pointing to the forty year old Officer Dibble lookalike.
Paul sat there watching his friend kiss goodbye to any chance he had of being treated leniently. If he'd gone in and pleaded g
uilty he would have saved everyone a lot of grief. He certainly hadn't been first in the queue to buy that book about how to win friends and influence people.
The magistrate took barely a few minutes to find Carl guilty as charged. "We take a very serious view of public order matters in this courtroom and do not take kindly to bad language and blatantly false stories. If you come before this court again on a similar matter I can assure you that you won't be treated so leniently, but in this instance I'm going to fine you £300."
Carl's acting suddenly improved. A three hundred pound fine was enough to bring tears to any man's eyes. It was certainly a lot of money for bouncing an old dustbin around.
When asked if he had anything to say, Carl kept his mouth shut. He was still trying to take in the size of the fine. Three hundred notes was about twice his expected nightmare scenario. One joker at his work had told him West Malling was a breeze and he'd probably end up with a slapped wrist and a fifty quid lighter wage packet.
"According to the Old Bill, Carl was a one-man riot!" Paul was telling Carol all about his day at court, while they sat in a small cafe just off Gillingham High Street, having something to eat.
"Remind me not to upset him if I ever meet him," Carol said, taking a bite out of her bacon roll.
"Nah, he's usually as good as gold, old Carl. He had just had too much to drink after falling out with his missus. Funny thing was though, he still reckons he was fitted up!"
"What time did you say we'd meet Tony at the station?" asked Carol, realising that time was getting on.
Paul looked at his watch. "Shit, ten minutes ago! Down your coffee and we'll be off."
Within a minute or so, they were leaving the cafe and running along the pedestrianised High Street towards Gillingham station. Paul still had half a cheeseburger in his hand and was doing his best to take bits out of it as they dodged past people heading home after a hard day's work.
It was quarter past six by the time they entered the station and found Tony reading a poster about fare increases for the South-East region.
"About fucking time!" Tony said as Paul and Carol came up to him.
"Sorry we're late, mate," Paul replied. "I've been at court all day with Carl, and lost track of time in the cafe."
Tony wasn't that bothered really. If the truth be known he had arrived ten minutes late himself. "So how did he get on then?"
"Three hundred note fine!"
"Fuck me!" said Tony, surprised by the size of it. "Three hundred pounds for breach of the peace?"
"Yeah that, and all the other offences Carl conveniently forgot to tell us about!"
Tony had parked his car just up the road from the station, and it was only a fifteen minute drive to Debbie's house in Strood, on the other side of the River Medway. Her parents went to bingo every Wednesday night, so she had invited Tony and Paul to join her and Carol for a night in.
A video and a few cans of beer were on the menu, and no sooner had they arrived when Debbie sent the two blokes off to the local corner shop to get them.
While they were out getting the supplies, Debbie and Carol were in the kitchen, making Tony something for his tea. He had met Carol and Paul straight from work, and hadn't stopped complaining about his empty belly since seeing Paul pop the last piece of cheeseburger into his mouth.
"So what did you get up to this afternoon then?" Debbie asked her friend as she put some sausages under the grill.
"Not much, really. Just had a quick look around Gillingham and then went and got something to eat."
"No looking in jeweller's shop windows I hope?" said Debbie, looking at Carol with a disapproving eye.
"No way!" said Carol, laughing it off. "Me and Paul are just having fun. Once I'm back in Hull, it'll be all finished with and the only wedding rings I'll be looking at will be mine and Ray's."
"And you've told him about Ray I suppose?"
"Of course not," replied Carol as she buttered some bread. "What's the point?"
"The point is, I think Paul has fallen for you hook, line and sinker, and he's too nice a bloke to get hurt."
Carol was beginning to get annoyed by Debbie shoving her nose in where it wasn't wanted. She was worse than her Mum and that was saying something. As far as Carol was concerned, she was just letting her hair down for a final time before getting married to Ray that summer. "Look, I'm going home tomorrow. I've had a great time and so has Paul, so let's just leave it at that, eh?"
"Yeah, okay," Debbie said, deciding to drop the subject. All the same she wasn't looking forward to picking up the pieces once Carol was back in Hull. Especially if Paul thought Debbie and Tony should have told him that Carol was spoken for and was just after a good time while down south.
"That film was crap," said Tony, as Debbie ushered him and Paul out of the house minutes before her parents were due back from their traditional drink after a night out at the bingo.
"How do you know?" Debbie replied, "you were snoring through most of it!"
"Yeah, well. Just shows how shit it was," Tony replied as he dug his car keys out of his jacket pocket.
Carol gave Paul a quick goodnight kiss and said she would see him in the morning.
"I'll come around about half-eleven, okay," Paul called, as he waited for Tony to unlock the passenger door. "That'll give us plenty of time to get to the station."
"Safe journey home, Carol," said Tony as he got into his car, knowing he wouldn't see Carol again before she headed back to Hull.
"Yeah, thanks for everything, Tony, and see you again soon!" Carol called back from the doorstep of the small terrace house.
With the front door closed, the two girls went back into the living room to clear away the empty beer cans. She didn't say anything, but Debbie was all too aware when Tony would see Carol next. When they travelled up to Hull for her wedding.
Chapter 6
AS he got off the bus, Paul dug his hands deep into his sheepskin pockets to keep warm. He looked up at the tower block he called home and wished he'd got on the train back to Hull with Carol.
Instead he was left to walk the short distance across the green wasteland that stood between his block of flats and the road. As he pushed the main door open, he noticed the shabby collection of scruffs hanging about in the ground floor lobby. If one of them hadn't spoken, he might have walked past, thinking they were a pile of dustbin sacks waiting to be collected.
"Watch out. Here comes action man," the voice said as Paul headed for the stairs.
"Someone talking to me?" Paul asked as he turned to face the low life that polluted his estate. He had just said goodbye to the new love of his life and the last thing he needed was some joker noising him up.
There was silence as Paul stood facing his taunters. Then one of them piped up. "Watch out kids - he might tell his old Mum on us."
The bloke doing the talking was one of the people who lived in the flat above him. He was a skinny looking bloke with unkempt hair and a week's growth of beard. From his tone of voice and the smiles on the other faces, Paul took his last comment to mean that they had been noising up his Mum in some way.
"What's she got to do with it?" Paul asked, looking directly at the scruffy bastard doing all the talking.
"Nothing," came the weasely reply. "We just wouldn't want anything to happen to her when you're not about, that's all."
Paul had taken enough shit and didn't take kindly to scum of the earth threatening his Mum. He went to grab the bastard by the collar to nut him, but backed off when his tormentor suddenly pulled out a needle and waved it in his face.
"Careful, action man. You wouldn't want to hurt yourself would you? After all, I might have AIDS!"
Before Paul could react, two of the others in the group had produced knives and were pointing them menacingly in his direction.
"You're fucking scum, you lot," he said angrily, as he began to move away towards the stairs.
"That's it," said the bloke waving the needle. "Hurry home to see if Mummy is okay!"<
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Paul turned and ran up the stairs as fast as his legs would carry him. As laughter echoed around the stairwell from down below, he was convinced they had done something to his Mum. He reached his flat on the fifth floor, gasping for air, and fumbled to unlock the door.
As he entered the flat, he could smell something cooking in the kitchen at the other end of the hall. Then the kitchen door opened, and his Mum said, "You're just in time for your tea, Paul. Go and wash your hands and I'll serve up."
Thank God! Paul thought, as he went into the bathroom to wash his hands and face, his heart still racing. Nothing had happened to his Mum, but he was still going to make those bastards pay for digging him up. And if they ever said so much as "Boo!" to his Mum, he would have every single one of the them.
There was never anything on TV on a Friday night, and Paul spent most of the evening in his room, sorting out his records and thinking about Carol. She would be more or less home by now and here he was stuck in a fucking box half way up a concrete tower, hundreds of miles away. Life was a bitch, it really was.
Tomorrow he was helping out Alan and his Dad on their stall at Rochester market which would give him the money for football the day after, but come Monday he was going to get himself a decent job no matter what. He didn't care what he had to do to get the money to move up to Hull. If the stuck-up bitch in the Jobcentre offered him a job cleaning toilets, he was going to take it. Anything to be with Carol.
Paul had had plenty of birds before, and he was the first to admit that he got too involved with some of them far too quickly. It usually ended in tears, and mostly his, but Carol was a totally different ball game. He had never wanted to be with a girl as much as he did this one. What they had between them was something special.
It was obvious she felt the same way about him. He had only know her a few days, and she was crying buckets for fuck's sake as her train pulled away earlier that afternoon. And when they had made love in his room that night, Carol had almost consumed him with her passion.
