Ahead of his Time

by Adrian Cousins

I thought for a moment before replying. The events from Friday to yesterday evening could not be described as exciting, but definitely eventful. “No, nothing really,” I replied.

  “I had a wonderful weekend. Truly wonderful!”

  “Oh, pray tell,” I asked over my shoulder as I hauled out the usual Monday morning heap of paperwork from my pigeonhole, which now hung straight again after Martin had skilfully wielded his screwdriver last week.

  Miss Colman didn’t answer. I turned and looked at her as I was now wondering what was going on. She was grinning from ear to ear, glowing like an angel from heaven, and almost hovering a few millimetres above her seat. Knowing she was the biggest gossip who’d ever graced the planet, I was surprised and intrigued by her silence.

  “Miss Colman?”

  I’d have been disappointed if she hadn’t performed her next moves, as it was who she was. She beckoned me closer with her middle finger, reeling me in. Then conducted the furtive glance left and right, before excitedly blurting it out.

  “Mr Trosh proposed to me on Saturday morning!”

  “Whaaaa, what! Fantastic! I can't believe it. What happened … how? Tell me everything! This is so exciting!”

  Miss Colman almost hopped up and down on her seat. Seeing someone so happy just lifts your spirits and, although my weekend had been a large pile of doo-doo, I was starting to feel better. The glow radiating from this lovely middle-aged lady, who was probably more excited than she’d ever been, caused my clouds of doom to begin to evaporate.

  “Mr Apsley, it’s because of you. It’s because of what you said last week.”

  Frowning, I was now confused at what she was on about. Although I was delighted for her, I couldn’t imagine what I had to do with Mr Trosh’s proposal of marriage.

  “Don’t you remember? You said I should go and see Mr Trosh in hospital, so I jolly well did. When I visited on Saturday morning, he said he’d been thinking about his life, and the operation had spurred him into making some important decisions. He said he’d wasted so much of his life and wasn’t going to waste any more time.”

  With all the events of the last two weeks, I’d forgotten pushing Miss Colman to visit Clive. So, I’d been right all along, and that little nudge was enough to get these two lovely characters together.

  “So, he proposed?”

  “Yes! He called for the nurses and they helped him out of bed and to get down on one knee. Then in his pyjamas, he asked me to marry him!” She clasped her hands together as if praying. “Mr Apsley, it was the most romantic moment of my life.”

  “Oh, that’s wonderful news. I’m so pleased. Have you got a ring?”

  A slight dent formed in her smile. “No, not yet. Mr Trosh isn’t very wealthy, but he said he’ll save up for one as soon as he gets back on his feet. But that doesn’t matter. I’m so happy.”

  “No, you’re right … it doesn’t matter.”

  I wondered if the first time around Mr Trosh had proposed to Miss Colman. Perhaps that tiny butterfly effect of my experience and the nudge I’d given Miss Colman had changed their futures. I decided it had, and that was a good thing. I felt a need to nip up to my safety deposit box, and another trip to see Mr Maypole was required. Jenny and I had more than enough wealth for our lifetime, and I thought one diamond less in that box and sitting on Trish’s finger felt right. I would get up and see Clive this week and float my idea to him.

  “Well, Trish, I better get on. Just think you will be Trish Trosh when you’re married!”

  “Ha-ha. Yes, I will. Trish Trosh. Trish Trosh. Trish Trosh,” she repeated to herself in different tones and accents, as if deciding which sound she liked best. It was the first time I’d used her Christian name without her pulling me up and putting me straight on the need for formal address during school hours. Trish had other things to think about, and so did I. My matchmaking skills needed to be put to the test once more when I planned to align Sarah Moore and Carlton King’s planets over a Bunsen Burner in this morning’s chemistry lesson.

  “Right, all settle down … QUIET!” My first request had no effect. The second shorter, one-word request had the desired effect as the class all turned and looked in my direction and closed their mouths.

  “Mr Roberts, you can remove the rubber tubing sticking out of your trouser zip, unless you would prefer it inserted up your backside,” I bellowed.

  Stephen Roberts pulled out the tube and adjusted his trousers. Carlton King smirked, and a few of the girls giggled but soon returned to silence as I delivered one of my, now perfected, Paddington stares.

  “Okay, this morning, we’re going to be conducting experiments in pairs. But rather than working with the person next to you, I’m going to mix it up a bit. The purpose of this is to encourage you to work with others and, ultimately, collaboratively deliver the conclusions to the experiments.”

  The class groaned and started to look about the room, I guess scanning the faces of who they prayed would not be their allotted partner. The murmuring stopped as a few clocked my stare. Yes, I had a lot to thank the cardboard-cut-out cartoon character of Paddington Bear. The crowd or rabble control tool I’d copied from that Peruvian brown furry orphan was invaluable in maintaining class order; my students over the past few months had grown wise to my stare and consistently obeyed.

  Once I’d set them into their new partnerships, I instructed them on the gripping task of identifying cations with metal salts through the use of the flame test and left them to crack on.

  Sarah Moore and Carlton King seemed nonplus with their pairing, but I guess I was optimistic to expect Sarah to gush over this immature lad as he held a wooden spatula to the burner flame. I needed Mr King to recognise the lovely, intelligent girl he was paired with and take the initiative to ask her on a date. The main problem I faced was Carlton’s lack of maturity. Although sixteen-year-old girls were maturing and, if this lot were anything to go by, their male counterparts were not. In Sarah's eyes, Martin probably appeared sophisticated and exciting. Whereas Carlton, I imagined, looked like a dork.

  The lesson ended with only a few pairings delivering a full set of correct answers from their experiments. Sarah and Carlton were one such pairing, and they appeared pleased with their collaborative achievements; also, they looked okay about the fact that the pairing would stay the same for the next lesson. I was fully aware their partnership had produced successful academic results because Sarah was a grade-A student. What frustrated me was in the future, she didn’t aspire to a great career which I knew she was capable of. Carlton-Dork-King, who really was a bit of a pillock, became editor of a newspaper. I was sure Sarah would’ve performed far better in that position based on her academic capabilities.

  My matchmaking skills didn’t seem to progress any further than the Bunsen Burner. As break-time arrived, Sarah quickly migrated back to her friends whilst Carlton looked about for his delinquent mates – Roberts and Cooper.

  “Mr King, a word, please,” I boomed out over the melee of chatter as the whole class attempted to squeeze out of the door at the same time.

  “Sir?” he replied, as he sauntered back to the front of the lab, I guess fully expecting to be reprimanded for something. His head sagged, awaiting the bollocking or worse, probably expecting a pair of Marigolds and a toilet brush to be thrust into his hand.

  “Well done with today’s lesson. That was some of your best work this year.”

  His head shot up in surprise. “Oh, fanks, sir.” He performed an odd chicken-style movement as his head repeatedly enacted small nodding actions whilst he contemplated the compliment he’d just received.

  “Was working with Sarah helpful?”

  “Yeah, she’s really cleva. ’elped a lot.”

  “Right, that’s good. So, working as a pair in the future should help you?”

  He continued his chicken-style nodding. “Yep,” he over-pronounced the ‘p’, leaving his bottom lip slack. It wasn’t a good look.

  “Great! Maybe you should catch up
with Sarah and thank her for her help?” My plan to help the relationship along just got another nudge. Martin was unsure when his mother dated Carlton. But it was in her school years and, as this was her final year, it had to be soon. I felt Carlton had some serious shaping up to do if Sarah was to fall for his charms unless she had a thing about nodding chickens.

  “Yeah, I will, sir. Cheers. Be good to have another gawp at her great tits as well.” With that, he sloped out of the lab and fell into the swim of students cruising down the corridors.

  “Okay. Surely he’ll grow up soon?” I mumbled and shook my head in disbelief at his comment regarding Sarah’s anatomy. I did remind myself that I’d said a similar comment to my prospective ex-mother-in-law about Lisa’s chest at the age of twenty-six. Based on the fact Carlton was ten years younger than I was then – there was no hope.

  The plan Martin and I’d conjured up involved him keeping away from any students during breaks, so to hide in the boiler house with his tools and only come out when classes were in full flow. This, we felt sure, would avoid him having any contact with his mother. I suggested he wasn’t to complete any jobs near the school gates as the students were piling out at the end of the day. Fully aware this severely reduced his chances of courting any more yummy mummies. Martin recognised the seriousness of the situation and would have to satisfy himself with Randy Mandy and Nursey Nicole for the time being – a real hardship, but I thought he could cope.

  40

  Twiggy

  “It’s gonna get really tough for you. Don’t think because Patrick is the father that I won’t deal with you.” She leant in closer to her face. “Don’t underestimate me, girl; you should know better.”

  Jess knew she was right. She was under no illusion that Patrick’s mother would make her life hell or worse if she chose to. Leaning with her back to the sink, she glanced from Shirley to Paul and back to Shirley again.

  “Well? I’m waiting,” Shirley stabbed out, as she folded her arms across her tartan-checked coat with a cigarette poking out the side of her mouth. Paul moved closer, sliding his backside along the edge of the kitchen worktop. Although he had those evil eyes, it was clear to Jess who was in charge as Shirley unfolded her arms and slowly raised her right index finger. She continued to stare at Jess, but the raised finger was enough to stop Paul’s advance towards her.

  “I told ’im, all I know,” Jess replied. Relieved the evil bastard hadn’t encroached any nearer. Jess knew if Shirley wanted to, she could click her fingers, and her well-trained pit-bull-son would rip her guts out.

  “Hmmm. Well, tell me.”

  “I was walking down the lane at the back. Y’know, Thetford Lane that goes around the field up by those trees.” Jess thumbed over her shoulder, indicating through the kitchen window behind her.

  Shirley removed her cigarette from her mouth and flicked the ash to the kitchen floor. “Go on.”

  I heard some shouting and, when I looked around, I could see some bloke hanging over the edge of the flats’ roof. I didn’t know then it was David. Some other bloke was hanging over the edge holding him. Another man was standing on the roof … he was … just standing there. Then the bloke hanging over the edge seemed to just let go, and I watched David fall to his death. As I said, I didn’t know it was David … well, not until I met up with Patrick later.”

  “You said you saw this geezer throw him off the roof. You changing your story?” Paul asked, as he stepped closer but stopped as Shirley shot him a look.

  “Why didn’t you say anything?” Shirley asked, as she held her stare and again dashed the ash to the floor.

  “This bitch needs sortin’ out!”

  “SHUT UP!” she barked at her son without looking at him. Paul shrank back and moved a few steps away from Jess.

  Jess knew why she’d said nothing. She remembered thinking at the time it was good riddance to that little perv. Knowing that David was Shirley’s favourite, she couldn’t say that without dire consequences. Nothing came to mind to what to say, so she just shrugged her shoulders.

  “And this bloke, you saw him later?”

  Jess nodded. “I was walking back from the shops about an hour or so later. I recognised the denim jacket he was wearing, and he looked about the same size as the man on the roof. He then jumped into a yellow Cortina and drove out of the estate.”

  Shirley nodded. Dropped the cigarette to the lino and crushed it under the sole of her black knee-length boots. Jess looked down at Shirley's foot but said nothing. The burn hole would just mix in with all the other burn marks accumulated over the years across the orange-coloured lino.

  “Well, girl. You’re carrying my grandchild. Patrick will want you looked after while he's away, so you don’t need to concern yourself with anything. You’re carrying a Colney; that alone will protect you. But let me be clear.” She stepped towards Jess, closing the gap which caused Jess to lean back against the sink. “You talk to me now. You tell me everything, not ’im … just me.” She thumbed over her shoulder in Paul’s direction.

  “Ma?”

  Shirley turned to her son. The height difference between them was over a foot. Paul, like Patrick, was built like a brick-shit-house. Shirley had a frame more like a short Twiggy, but it was clear to see Paul was terrified of her.

  Shirley sneered at him. “Shut up.” She held his stare for a few more seconds before turning back to Jess.

  “Patrick will be out in less than ten. You’re going to be a little angel in those years.”

  Jess nodded.

  “You’ll go every week to visit him. You won’t get involved with anyone else … you’re his woman, and you’ll stick by him … you clear?”

  Jess nodded.

  “You and I will bring up this child, and Patrick will come out with a faithful woman waiting for him.”

  Jess nodded and swallowed hard. Unable to avert her eyes from Shirley as they pierced into her skull.

  “We understand each other? Woman to woman.”

  “Yes.” Jess knew this was her opportunity to rid herself of Paul. She mustered up some courage from somewhere. “I love Patrick. I’ll do everything you say, but keep him away from me.” She pointed at Paul.

  Shirley didn’t move for a few seconds, then leant back. After already being told to shut up twice, Paul presumably had decided to keep schtum in fear of another mauling by his mother. He edged closer, his fists balled and appeared ready to smash his fist through Jess’s teeth.

  Shirley nodded, then glanced at her son. “You ’eard her. You keep your distance.”

  “Why would I wanna touch that?” He turned up the corner of his mouth and looked at Jess as if she were something he’d scraped off his shoe. As Shirley turned back to look at Jess, he suggestively stuck out his tongue.

  “You sick git. I wouldn’t touch you if you were the last man alive.”

  “Too late, girlie. I’ve already fucked ya.”

  “No you haven’t. No you haven’t!” Jess shot back at him, concerned that Shirley would believe his lies. She was going to comply with her demands and always be faithful to Patrick.

  “The alley a couple of weeks ago. As I said, I’ve already been there!” he grinned.

  Jess froze and felt her knees weaken – grabbing the edge of the sink to support herself as she became nauseous. “You? You … you … raped me? You raped me!” she shrieked.

  Shirley swivelled around and glared at Paul, a steel-cold stare. Paul now appeared uncomfortable as he retreated from his mother. He winced and stepped back further, clearly concerned about what was about to happen.

  Shirley didn’t need to ask the question. She had four boys who she ruled with a rod of iron. She knew when they were lying and when they fucked-up. She never needed to ask. Shirley swung her arm with such force that the slap knocked Paul off his feet, causing him to crack his head on the countertop as he crumpled to the floor. “You disgusting piece of shit. Get out. GET OUT!”

  Whilst Shirley physically threw her son out of
the flat, Jess slid down to the lino floor. Tears flowed, and she tried to control her breathing as she’d started to hyperventilate. Shirley strode back into the kitchen, leant down and slapped her across the face.

  “GET UP!”

  The shock of the slap instantly brought her breathing back under control. Jess crawled to a kitchen chair, hauling herself onto it and stared down at the table, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

  “Who’ve you told?”

  Jess didn’t look up. Shirley stepped forward, forcibly grabbing her chin and yanking it up.

  “Talk, girl. Who’ve you told?”

  Jess suppressed her tears as she shook her head. “No … no one.”

  “No one?”

  Jess shook her head again. Thinking of her father and how much she needed him here now.

  Shirley leant forward, her nose now inches from Jess. “That’s how it stays. You tell no one. Patrick must never know … you understand?”

  Jess nodded as the tears escaped again and poured down her cheeks.

  “I’ll deal with him. He’ll never come near you again. But … you utter a word about this, and your life will be over … OVER!”

  Jess nodded again. Shirley released her chin from her tight grip, then gently stroked Jess’s hair. She pulled out two cigarettes and lit them, then offered one to Jess and sat in the chair opposite.

  “Smoke that, then go and have a wash. You’re a mess.”

  41

  The Long Kiss Goodnight

  “Hold the line, caller.”

  I waited, holding the curly telephone cord. Well, that’s what the lady said at the other end of the phone to do – so I did.

  “Jenny Lawrence speaking, how can I help you?”

  “As far as I’m aware, you married me five weeks ago. Unless you’re leaving me, I believe your name is Jenny Apsley,” I chuckled.

  “Oh, darling, I keep forgetting!”

  “Forgetting your name, or we got married? As I said, it was only five weeks ago. Has your memory gone? Oh, hang on, don’t tell me your real name is Samantha Caine from the ‘Long Kiss Goodnight’?”