by Loui Downing
‘Hey…you. You forgot something Sir’ cried the young girl, whose voice could hardly be heard over the thick and erratic wind that bounced the docks, knocking the sound of her voice slowly over to Neville. Neville stopped for a moment as he thought he had caused a problem and for a split second he thought about running, although this time his newly acquired confidence made him stand his ground for once. He walked back, fighting the outbursts of weather as he held onto his coat that was flapping wildly.
‘This was on the table under the bundle of notes, I thought it might be important’ said the girl, whose voice was turned down slightly from before. She held out a piece of paper with some black ink marks that Neville strained to make out. He stared at her questioningly as if it was a hoax but then came closer to her to retrieve the item she was holding aloft in her pale thin arms, her light ginger hair flurried in the wind as she rebounded the hair that collided with her face. Neville took the piece of paper with his eroded thick skinned hands and looked down at the falling ink from the cries above. The note was crinkled and mucky in places, revealing its age as Neville read the letters that formed surprising words judging from Neville’s facial expression, his rolls of wrinkles torn and tangled with confusion and intrigue.
‘Ask for Micky-1145200 D1p. I hope you find what you’re looking for Neville. The stomach rumbles for one reason only Nev!’
The note flapped in the aggressive gust of ferocious wind just as Neville finished reading, sending shivers down his spine, when he was distracted by the night sky being broadly filled with a cracking clear white light.
‘Well?’ asked the girl, clearly drenched and cross by the time Neville was taking to read it. Neville stared blankly back at her with no thought going through his mind. Neville’s hand was suddenly filled with the note he had been observing for the past few moments. He lifted his head and saw a stern look on the girls face as she stormed off back inside. Neville submerged himself back to the paper, looking for answers to the details in front of him, as he stood scratching his forehead with one finger. Neville couldn’t find the meaning for most of the note, as he questioned the meaning of the numbers and it was then that it occurred to him, what was he looking for? Neville also wondered why he calls him Nev at the very end of the note, although he dropped the thought and just assumed it was related to his ill sense of humour. The numbers looked like a code of some sort, or maybe a communication number thought Neville, browsing the numbers and counting them with his left hand finger.
The day progressed and before Neville realised it, it was approaching tea-time as he felt the usual disorientation happening in his stomach. Neville had been wondering the shops and café’s for the past few hours, buying time in order to meet this person that Roger had kindly informed him of. He felt nervous about meeting the stranger, not knowing who or what he might be, for all he knew he could be dangerous. Trustingly, he decided that he shall meet the stranger later that evening, but he still had to find out what the note meant. The shops, bars and restaurants were starting to obtain a light buzz of activity as more groups entered willing to be entertained, smiles most broad set across the face of many as Neville smiled to himself as he saw a father place his daughter on his shoulders. She screamed with fright but then realised she was in safe hands and started to poke and prod at the young tall father, the mother concerned but keeping in with the fun from a safe distance. Neville harmlessly gazed over at the family as they all hurried into the busy Italian restaurant on the corner of West Wingulmill Street, on the edge of a parade of life that trickled behind the restaurant. Cobble streets filled with muck caught up in the nooks and cranny’s, giving the appearance of fingernail dirt as Neville’s eyes were fully fastened to the ground beneath him, coming close to colliding with some thirsty scholars on their way for a few drinks after some intense studying. The five young men and one blonde young lady climbed the steps to a bar that flourished with freshly cut green and bore the name of ‘Yanks & R.O.W’ which made Neville think for a while, until his train of thought was mowed over by an over-intoxicated individual who decided that the world owed him something, staggering and falling at random when he disappeared down an alley and out of sight, letting out a sound that was much to be desired. Passers-by certainly kept their distance, avoiding the trail of destruction. Neville sat on a nearby rock propped around a green to then quickly spring into action and headed for a mobile pretzel van, the sweet smell pleasing the small crowds. Neville watched two birds swoop above his head and fade in the distance. It was not until now that Neville began to think of how alone he was in the world, desperate to find his family and friends that he struggled to picture from his past. Broken images and confused stories formed in his puzzled mind as he tried so restlessly to piece together his life. He took the note out from his pocket and unfolded the soggy content, and read it as he walked towards the busy food stand, placing it back in his pocket again as he ordered a pretzel and a fizzy drink. He noticed a young boy behind the counter that reminded Neville of him a few years back, scruffy hair, vacant expression and a general body language that suggested he would rather be elsewhere. An older worker made a blunt comment over to the boy who shrugged his shoulders and worked quickly, refraining from answering to his colleague. Neville paid for his goods and was handed a white greasy bag and an exceedingly cold drink, which he opened without delay, feeling energetic after only a few sips. He made his way along the docks, noticing restaurateurs carrying menu blackboards outside for customers as well as using their annoying sales technique of persuading passers-by and tempting them with offers they couldn’t miss out on apparently. A few innocent families resulted in dining in a restaurant that was quite empty compared to most on the road ahead of Neville, whether it was out of sympathy remains uncertain. It was approaching four o’clock slowly and Neville felt the temperature drop as he fastened his jacket up and pulled some holy gloves from the pouch at the front of his coat and putting them on with care, stretching the individual finger slots. It was still reasonably light due to it being a few weeks into spring but there seemed to be a prolonged piercing cold that wouldn’t budge this year. Neville had enough cash on him to last around a month living quite expensively as he divided segments of the cash into chunks for weeks and then he broke it down further into days, helping him to spend wisely. Being on the streets has taught him one thing at least and that is to treasure what you have, from a close friend to a lucky blanket. After counting his money out, he cautiously scanned the area around him, paranoid that an opportunist thief would snatch it from him. He stowed the money safely into a tattered wallet he hadn’t used for a while and sat down on the green thirsty grass and started to feel like he was going to get things sorted this time around.
For the past few years Neville has been wondering the city and to be here is so surreal for him. To be placed in such a dream location overnight with money to his name, a friend and a wide beaming ray of hope that he felt deep down. He has been down as low as you wouldn’t be able to imagine, utterly perplexed by the friendly atmosphere and slow way of life that put Neville’s heart at rest. Even after just a few hours Neville was thinking of staying indefinitely, leaving everything in the city behind that all appeared insignificant now. Remembering the note, he had been given he tried endlessly to come to a conclusion to its meaning, troublesome and torn by its complexity. Some of the craft shops were shutting in the distance, along with a gadget shop which was a small addition to a jewellers and a tall library that looked worn out although pleased that it was shutting early today. People started to decrease one by one and Neville tried to think of something to do for a few hours until he found out the meaning to his note. He pondered and couldn’t make his mind up so he just walked down the docks again occasionally window browsing, tempting himself on the things he could very well afford but in his state he had no reason for impulse purchase so he sighed and carried until the end where he met what looked like a disused viewing post that took some kind of old twenty pence pieces, Neville reme
mbering these times and casting his mind back all those years ago.
‘The newspaper boy cycled as fast as he could to get to the top of the hill in time to get back home for his favourite show ‘the Beems’ which basically entailed two boys presenting the mornings news however they liked and doing whatever they liked, resulting in parental disapproval and un-dubbed content. The boy was sweating at an alarming rate; he papers digging into his skinny back. The evil newspaper owner always used to give him a large pile, more than the others anyway as in the owner’s eyes his family was frowned upon. The nice summer’s day lifted the moods of the busy villagers, helping to accomplish their daily duties without strenuous extremes. The sounds of engine’s waking and beginning their day forcibly, some tended to be more inclined to remain stationary, although the majority starting with ease. The aluminous flaps of the boy’s paper satchel swung open to the last few papers that were inside and by the looks of the boy it appeared to be a momentous achievement, looking at his watch and realising that he had beaten his old record by around two and a half minutes. The paper headline read: ‘DISMAY FOR THE LIONS AS COUNTRY COMES TO A STAND STILL’ relating to the dramatic defeat for England in a deciding match against Spain yesterday, where the country saw a three non-result, knocking England out of the running’s for the semi-finals against France or the Czech Republic. The newspaper dated Thursday 26th of March 2015, setting the buyer back four euros and ten cent, which the boy knew would upset the lady of Elms court and be the topic of conversation for the next few days. He always hated the way that people tending to unintentionally blame him for the increase, he paused and was slightly tempted to not deliver it today but shook the thought away and closed his satchel. He set off slowly down the hill free-riding down, legs detached from the pedals as he closed his eyes and felt the breeze gust into his face, straightening his bushy gathering of hair that his mother is always trying to trim. The hill’s decent was quite vertically proportioned which aided the speed of the bike, scaring the boy who slowly opened his eyes and reached for the breaks, placing his feet back on the damaged pedals. The boy zoomed around the corner at the end of the hill; nearly being mowed down by an oncoming car, the family inside didn’t take to kindly to his driving attitude and glared at his. The old lady, who always is visible at this time moaning at his time keeping, was nowhere to be seen, which weirdly disappointed the boy. Come to think of it he hadn’t seen her for a few days now; she must have taken a holiday to see her brother in Scotland again thought the boy, knowing most of her life as it was so kindly discussed most morning, hindering his progress.
Neville awoke from the daze and placed a coin in the viewing slot machine and jumped into position to look out at sea. He longed to see his family again and started to feel desperate as he really couldn’t adapt to the modern way of living, it felt so bland and that quiet compared to the segments of his past he could remember, snaps of muffled images that were so hard to unlock, as to was the reason for why he was here and what had happened all those years ago. Looking outbound at the light blue sea that darkened as it got further, he recalled him and his brother messing around and this brought a tear to his eye, making him feel even more cold and sodden from the rain. The pure white sky that formed in the telescopic lens was now in view, Neville turning the machine around ninety degrees when he saw a small hut that stood alone on a peer that went around half a mile out to shore. The shutters clambered down in front of his eyes, blackening his vision, so he lifted himself down to the ground and started to walk back, retracing his steps to the café. On the way he remembered the jewellery shop he saw and planned to peer through the window at the new watches and gadgets. It was getting late and the shops were now closed and the evening was made way for restaurants and drinkers alike to relax and enjoy their free time. Dark shadows grew larger down the hill decent close by Neville, accompanied by the clatter of a woman’s heel and loud conversation that echoed the narrow walkway.
Neville finally reached the glistening window of the jewellery shop, flabbergasted at the distance he had covered without realising it, taking him around twenty minutes to find his way back. He lent over towards the window pane of the shop, seeing his face in the reflection as he smiled when he saw what a wonderful display of jewellery. The cream rectangular display cabinet elegantly swirled in beyond the window, catching Neville’s eye and becoming one of his deepest desires to own one of the items on display. Items sparkled and gleamed at Neville, bracelets, rings, pennants, watches, earrings, wallets and pocket watches all in pristine condition and as shiny as the moons humming glow. The window display is divided into halves, one being modern and the other historic, which reinforced Neville’s emotion of abandonment as he spotted an old type watch that displayed a green backlight and the time only. The modern day watches are now equipped with holographic displays, calling facilities, identification and a downsized version of GPS and satellite navigation for the traveller. No of which appealed to Neville whatsoever, he preferred a watch to be plain and simply a watch, maybe one that tells the temperature and date but no of this modern day obsession to downsize everything into something so small. Neville continued to look at the digital watch and noticed the date in the top right hand corner, which displayed:26/03/21 and it was then that Neville was elated, rushing as he withdrew the note and placed it up against the windowsill, next to the watch the shone in the background and he looked from the note to the watch’s date repetitively, realising that he had overlooked something so simple. Neville had finally uncovered what the numbers relate to on the note, realising it must be a time, although the last three digits remained a mystery to him. Feeling like he had achieved something, he headed back up the street and headed for the docking bay where Roger had dropped him off earlier that morning. The café was luckily open and to Neville’s delight it would be open for a few more hours, enabling him to stay out of harm’s way, and plus he felt like spending some of the money he had, as it wasn’t very often he would have consecutive meals so he was making most of the time he had away from bother and sat down, asking for a menu from the tired waitress who recognised the man and greeted with a half-smile half strain.
‘I’ll have the fish salad and a regular latte…oh and some sparkling water please’ said Neville to the waitress who had been standing at his side for a few moments. Neville past the menu containing mainly fish dishes back to the lady, she quickly disappeared into the kitchen. A man entered walking slowly just as Neville’s drinks arrived and poured into their individual receptacles.
‘There you are sir’ said the lady, who was leaning over Neville and he noticed a small name badge just below her hair which said Melanie. Neville looked at the feasting dish below him and began eating immediately, the fish was so tasty and the spaghetti seemed to delicately trickle down his throat.
‘Getting warmer they say!’ said the man, leaning over his chair to face Neville, as Neville chocked silently on his food.
‘Are they? I’m not from around here’ replied Neville, finishing his prawn but still speaking with his mouth half full.
‘I thought I could tell, haven’t seen many travelling teenagers for a while’ said the man, who Neville now recognised was a policeman from his jacket hung over the back of his chair. Neville stood as still as a cat, he had always been scared of the police for moving him along and he started to think the same about the man opposite.
‘So, what brings you down here then?’ asks the policeman in a non-obtrusive way.
‘I’m…just visiting a friend…going back home in a few days though’ replied Neville nervously, which the policeman noticed.
‘You do look young to be visiting on your own’ said the policeman, sounding curious.
‘What’s with all the questions? Any way what are you doing in a place like this, I thought policemen patrolled the inner city areas’ snapped Neville, taking the policeman by surprise.
‘No reason, I’m here because of a tip-off from an anonymous caller about a man participating in illegal de
als around here at midnight’ detailed the policeman.
‘So, you think it’s me do you?’ said Neville as he placed his cutlery down into his dish and his food that was gradually getting colder.
‘Not at all, I’m looking for a Duesbury…Michael Duesbury, do you know him?’ said the policeman as he starred at Neville who had pieces of spaghetti and seafood on the end of his fork, paused midair on the way to his mouth. Neville couldn’t believe it, was this same man that Roger had written in the note he gave him, Neville remained calm but inside he was deeply frozen.
‘You ok?’ said the policeman, looking suspiciously at his blank posture. Neville replied with a groan that to anyone else would appear ignorant, whereas he was utterly perplexed by what the policeman just told him.
‘More coffee?’ asked the waitress to them both. The policeman nodded enthusiastically as Neville remained dead to the world, fiddling around with the tablecloth. The policeman turned his chair slightly so that his body was leaning towards Neville, as Neville glanced over his shoulder whilst raising an eyebrow. The policeman lent back on the wobbly legs of the pine chair, reaching for his wallet and flipping it onto the table. Neville spotted his cards poking out of the wallet which said ‘Volt’ but his first name was covered by the thick layer of lather that lay across the cards. Neville wondered what kind of a person has a name like that in this day and age, to Neville Volt sounded like a superhero from one of his brother’s comics. Neville began secretly unveiling the note he was given earlier underneath the table, constantly checking for anyone’s glimpse at the thought of being caught with it.
