Mr Kass turned to look up at Lloyd’s window.
I said, ‘Heavy metal is for people who hate music.’
‘Well, it won’t help my proclivity for migraines, that’s for sure.’
‘So . . . the tooth! Tell me about that. It belonged to Troy, right?’
‘Whoa, whoa, young man! You’re jumping ahead a bit.’
‘But it’s obvious that’s where the story’s going. Troy was . . . what? In a boxing match. One of his teeth was knocked out. You picked it up and . . . Ta-dah! You put it in your Box of Troy Flamingo and – after all these years – you’ve still got it.’
‘Young man! Allow me to tell my story in my way, if you please. And in my own time.’
‘I . . . I’m sorry, Mr Kass.’
‘I should hope you are!’ Sip. Sip. ‘A story needs to unfold at its own pace. And it’s usually not about how it ends at all. It’s about how you get to the end. So, yes, after all I’ve told you, it may be “obvious”, as you say, that the tooth is Troy’s. But it was not knocked out in a boxing match. Oh, no. It was something far more dreadful than that!’
‘DINNER!’ Mum called.
‘Jesus!’ I muttered.
‘Your mother does seem to have a knack for the most unfortunate timing,’ Mr Kass said, grinning and standing. ‘I’m afraid, like a novel by the masterful Mr Charles Dickens, you are destined to get this story in instalments. Come on, we don’t want to keep your mother waiting.’
The next morning I kept glancing over at Lloyd’s window. The blind was closed but, with no light on his room, I couldn’t tell if he was actually there or not. Perhaps he was with Mack. Perhaps he was having such a good time with Mack he didn’t want to see me anymore.
At two o’clock, I had Sunday dinner at the table with Mum and Mr Kass, but I was so wrapped up with my thoughts about Lloyd that I didn’t really engage with anything being said. Afterwards (once Mum had done the washing up and Mr Kass had dried the dishes), Mum came up to my room and said she and Mr Kass were going to the park for a stroll. Did I want to join them? She looked relieved when I said I didn’t.
I lay on my bed for a while, brooding and stewing about Lloyd, then – on the way downstairs to get a drink – I saw that Mr Kass had left his door open. Not ajar, but wide, all-the-way open. I stood in the doorway, peering at his Museum of Memories on top of the chest of drawers. There seemed to be some new objects there. One of them – an orange piece, possibly made of glass – was catching the light. I was sure Mr Kass wouldn’t mind if I took a quick look. Perhaps that’s why he’d left his door open in the first place. As an invitation for me to enter.
I went into his room and picked up the sparkling object. It was about the size of a plum and, holding it up to the light, I could see an insect – a mosquito perhaps – inside. I knew what the thing was. Not glass, but amber. This was once liquid, and the insect – the prehistoric insect – had got caught in its lava-like flow. The amber had then hardened, trapping the insect forever.
I looked at some of the other ‘museum’ items. There was a tiny bronze cat, an old chess piece (the King), a postcard from Malta with a big heart painted (in bright red) on the back, a pack of playing cards, a belt buckle –
I noticed something in the (slightly open) top drawer. A photograph of a man. Was he wearing a uniform? I opened the drawer wider. It was a magazine. An army magazine? I picked it up. The man on the cover was wearing some kind of Nazi-style outfit. I opened the magazine. The first photograph was of three men dressed in black military gear and wearing gas masks. There was a man on the floor in front of them. He was stripped to the waist. One of the uniformed men was hitting him with a riding crop. I flicked through the rest of the magazine. All the photos were similar to this. Men in uniform, whipping or spanking men not in uniform, or – in most cases – not in anything at all.
I needed to show this to Lloyd. Not just because it was full of what-the-fuck photos, but because – more importantly – it was a way for me to make the ‘first move’ to be friends (again!) without losing face.
I had to do it before Mr Kass got back with Mum. How long would they be? It would take about half an hour to walk to the park, say an hour there (probably longer, but let’s play it safe) then half an hour back. That’s two hours. They’d already been forty-five minutes. I had one hour and fifteen minutes to show Lloyd the magazine, get our friendship back on track, then return the magazine to Mr Kass’s room.
I went to my bedroom, stuck my head out of the window and called, ‘Lloyd? You there? . . . lloyd!?’
The blind opened and Lloyd was staring at me. ‘What?’
‘I’ve got something to show you! I’m coming over!’
I tucked the magazine under my T-shirt and ran to Lloyd’s house.
Lloyd was waiting at his front door.
‘I don’t want any bloody arguments,’ he said.
‘Forget about that.’
‘Yeah, but – ’
‘Where’s your mum?’
‘In the garden.’
‘Let’s go to your room! Quick!’
We went upstairs.
‘Lock the door!’ I said.
‘What’s all this about?’
‘This!’ I pulled the magazine from under my shirt.
Lloyd looked at the cover. ‘Fuck!’ He locked the door, then took the magazine from me and started to flick through it. ‘Fuck . . . shit . . . fuck . . .’ He sat on the carpet, leaning against his bed. ‘Where’d you get this?’
‘I . . . I found it.’
‘Where?’
‘In his room.’
‘Your lodger?’
‘Yeah.’ I sat next to him.
‘Jesus!’ He pointed at a photo in the magazine. ‘Look at this one. You can see his hard-on and everything.’ He turned the page. ‘Fuck me, I wish I had biceps like that.’ He studied a few more pages. ‘What is it with all the Nazi stuff?’
‘How should I know?’ I leant closer to him.
Lloyd fell silent as he looked at the photos.
I fell silent too, watching him as he looked at the photos.
‘I’M HOME!’ a man’s voice yelled from below.
‘It’s dad!’ Lloyd said, jumping to his feet. ‘dad!’ He went to rush out of the room.
‘Wait!’ I said, stuffing the magazine under my shirt.
‘No, no, mate! Put it under the bed!’
‘DAGGER!’ Val squealed from downstairs.
‘VAL BABY!’ Dagger roared.
I said, ‘But I’ve got to put it back in Mr Kass’s – ’
‘If you walk out with it like that, Dad’ll find it.’
‘LLOYD!’ Val called up.
‘SON!’ Dagger called.
I said, ‘But . . . but . . .’
‘You know what a hug monster Dad is. If you’ve got it under your shirt he’ll feel it. Keep it here. You can put back in your lodger’s room another time.’
‘But what if – ’
‘LLOYD!’
‘SON!’
Lloyd yelled, ‘COMING!’ Then at me, ‘Hurry up!’
I threw the magazine under his bed, then followed him downstairs.
Dagger was his usual swaggering and – as Lloyd had warned – ‘hug monster’ self. His face was weather-beaten and his hair was longer (and curlier) than I’d ever seen it. He was wearing faded jeans and a plaid shirt, unbuttoned to reveal his (very) hairy chest.
Lloyd said to him, ‘I didn’t think you were coming home till Wednesday or something.’
‘I thought I’d surprise you!’ Dagger said. ‘But, if you’re not pleased to see me, then I’ll go back!’ He took a playful step towards the door.
There was a chorus of ‘No! No!’ and yet more hugging.
Lloyd said, ‘Your arms feel bigger, Dad!’
‘I’ve been working out. Punch me in the stomach. Hard as you like!’
Lloyd punched his dad.
Dagger’s expression didn’t change.
Llo
yd said, ‘It hurt my hand!’
Dagger looked at me. ‘You try!’
I said, ‘Oh, I don’t think – ’
‘Do it!’ Dagger said.
‘Go on!’ Lloyd said.
I punched Dagger.
It was like hitting a tree.
‘See?’ Dagger said. ‘I’m as fit as fuck. No one on the rig thinks I’m as old as I am. When I tell them my son’s fifteen, they say, “But he can’t be!” I say, “But he is! And I love him! I love him to bits!” ’
At which point there was even more hugging, so I said it was time I was going home and – as no one seemed to disagree – that’s what I did.
As I put my key in the front door, I heard Mum call out my name from behind me. I turned to see her and Mr Kass strolling down the street, licking ice-creams.
‘The park was wonderful,’ Mum said, when she reached the house. ‘Wasn’t it, Mr Kass?’
‘It was indeed,’ Mr Kass said.
Mum looked at Lloyd’s house. ‘Is that Dagger’s voice I hear?’
‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘He’s just got back.’
‘How long do we give it this time? Three days? Four?’ Mum noticed Mr Kass’s confused look. ‘Val and Dagger always end up arguing,’ she said. ‘It’ll be sweetness and light for the first couple of days, but then – ’
‘Yelling and throwing things,’ I said.
‘Oh, dear,’ Mr Kass said. ‘It’s a case of “batten down the hatches” then.’
I went up to my room and waited – anxiously – for Mr Kass to discover his magazine was missing but – even though he had spent over an hour in his room before tea – he didn’t say anything about it. Nor did he mention it when he came back upstairs after watching television with Mum. I was just beginning to think I’d got away with it – for today, at least – when there was a knock at my door.
Mr Kass was outside, his shirt unbuttoned a little more than usual.
‘I hope I’m not disturbing you, young man,’ he said.
‘No, not at all, Mr Kass,’ I said.
‘Forgive me for asking such an impertinent question, but . . . did you have reason to go into my room while I was out with your mother today?’
‘Why would I go into your room, Mr Kass?’
‘Well, I left the door open to air the room, and perhaps you thought . . . it was an endorsement to enter . . . so to speak.’
‘No.’
‘It would be totally understandable if you did think that.’
‘But I didn’t.’
‘It’s just that . . . I can’t seem to find something that I . . . should be able to find.’
‘What something, Mr Kass?’
‘A . . . a periodical of some kind.’
‘A “periodical”?’
‘A magazine. You don’t happen to know where it is, do you?’
‘I’m afraid not, Mr Kass.’
He knew I was lying. And he knew I knew he knew.
He said, ‘Well . . . that is a very great shame. The . . . magazine in question is of a very . . . specialized nature. It is not to everyone’s taste. I had thought that . . . perhaps you decided to . . . borrow it for a while.’
‘No.’
He stared at me a moment. Then, ‘Well, let us say this, shall we. If you had taken the magazine – the magazine that you haven’t taken, of course – I would now say, “I give it to you.” I would say, “I give it to you on two conditions. One, you never show it to anyone else. And, two, if someone does find it, you do not tell them from whence it came.” Does that makes sense, do you think?’
‘It makes perfect sense.’
‘Then we’ll leave it there, shall we?’
‘I will if you will.’
‘Of course. Goodnight, young man.’
‘Goodnight, Mr Kass.’
The next morning I woke late to an empty house (Mum and Mr Kass were at work) and a note from Lloyd stuck in the letterbox.
HAVE GONE WITH MUM AND DAD TO VISIT
MY GRANDPARENTS IN SOUTHEND.
GRANDDAD’S VERY ILL. I DIDN’T KNOW.
THAT’S WHY DAD’S BACK EARLY.
WE MAY STAY THE NIGHT. OR TWO.
SEE YOU SOON.
LLOYD.
The day suddenly opened in front of me as vast and desolate as the lunar landscape. What was I going to do without Lloyd? What?
I tried reading Great Expectations, but I kept seeing Miss Havisham holding a riding crop, and Pip wearing a necklace of human ears, so I soon gave up on that.
That evening, when Mum, and then Mr Kass, got home, it was such a huge relief to finally have some company that not only did I stay downstairs to have dinner with them, but – for the first time – I watched television with the two of them afterwards.
At about nine o’clock Mum said she felt like a soak in the bath, and Mr Kass said he would have a cup of tea ready for her afterwards. As soon as I heard the hot water come on upstairs, I turned the telly down and said to Mr Kass, ‘Okay! Troy Flamingo!’
Mr Kass smiled. ‘Goodness! We are eager!’
‘I want to know what happened!’
‘Very well, young man. Your wish, as they say, is my command.’ He straightened his cravat and did some actorly clearing of the throat. ‘My part-time job at the Emporium became full-time. Indeed – and this is no exaggeration, I assure you – I all but ran the place. Major Trusk gave me the keys to the building. He said, “You’re always the first to arrive and the last to go, Traff. You might as well open and close the building too!” My favourite time was late at night, when it was just me and Troy there. Troy would say, “I’m not keeping you am I, Traff?” And I’d say, “No, no, Troy. Stay as long as you like.” And I would watch him do press-ups . . . or shadow box . . . or skip . . .’
‘The tooth, Mr Kass! I want to know about the tooth!’
‘Yes, yes. “Cut to the chase”, as they say.’ Straightening of cravat, actorly cough. ‘But in order to explain the tooth – to make you understand why what happened did happen – I have to tell you about Lester McGregor.’
‘Who’s Lester McGregor?’
‘He joined the Emporium a few months after Troy. He was eighteen and handsome and, quite clearly, a star in the making. Major Trusk said, “This is the boy who’s going to make my fortune.” And I believed that too. Everyone at the Emporium believed that. Including Lester himself. He was not a boxer burdened with too much humility. But his boasting . . . oh, it was of such a flamboyant and playful nature – child-like, in many ways – that it only seemed to endear people to him. We all wanted to be his friend. Troy wanted to be his friend. Yes, Troy! Troy who usually kept a safe distance from everyone. And Lester, quite clearly, wanted to be friends with Troy.’ He glanced at me. ‘I fear you can see where this story is going. Am I right?’
‘I think so, yeah.’
‘Tell me.’
‘Troy and Lester . . . they . . .’
‘Mmm?’
‘They . . . fancied each other.’
‘Oh, yes. And more.’
‘You mean . . . they . . . ?’
‘Mmm?’
‘They actually . . . they were boyfriends?’
‘That’s exactly what I mean.’
‘But . . . wasn’t it illegal back then?’
‘Indeed it was. They could both go to prison. Their lives would be ruined. A relationship such as theirs was only possible if it was kept absolutely secret. No one must know! No one!’
‘So how did you – ?’
‘Find out? I shall tell you.’ Cravat. Cough. ‘Lester had become Troy’s regular sparring partner. They were always the last to leave the gym. One of them would say, “We’ll carry on till you’ve locked up, if that’s okay, Traff?” And I’d reply, “Of course. Stay as long as you like.” And I meant it. I’d be happy if they stayed all night.’ Cough. Cravat. ‘While Troy and Lester trained together, I’d finish any paperwork that had to be done – correspondence was not Major Trusk’s strong point – then I’d w
atch them. Eventually, one of them would say, “Finished, Traff!” and they’d both go to the dressing rooms. This was my cue to start closing the Emporium. I’d go to the back of the building and start checking all the windows were locked and all the lights turned off, and continue doing this as I made my way to the front, until I ended up in the corridor that led to the changing rooms. There was a large metal door at the entrance to the corridor. Oh, it made a hell of a noise. CLANG! I would padlock this door – twice! – then walk down to the changing rooms where Troy and Lester would be in the final stages of dressing. One of them would say, “Goodnight, Traff!” and then they’d leave. But, on one particular night, this routine was broken.’ He paused, gazing at me. ‘Very broken.’
‘What happened?’ I asked.
‘I’d been watching Troy and Lester sparring in the ring, and just as I was about to leave to start doing Major Trusk’s correspondence, I noticed Lester lean against Troy . . . and stay there. And I saw the way Troy looked at him. And I knew – knew in an instant! – something was going on between them. Later, when Lester called, “Finished, Traff!” and they made their way to the changing rooms, I did not start locking windows and turning off lights as usual. I crept to the corridor leading to the changing rooms and, as quietly as possible, opened the iron door. I tiptoed down the corridor. I peeked round the doorway into the changing rooms. They were both stepping out of the showers. They started to towel themselves dry. Then . . . they kissed. They started to feel each other . . . all over. I felt . . . I felt giddy watching them. I crept back up the corridor. I sat by the iron door. I was shaking. I waited for about twenty minutes – the usual length of time it would take for me to get there – then I stood up and opened the door. CLANG! I walked down the corridor as casually as I did any other night. Troy and Lester were dressed now. Chatting about a girl they fancied in the local pub. Lester said, “Goodnight, Traff!” and they left. I gazed at the spot where I’d seen them kissing. And I hated Troy! Hated him for leaving me nothing but his scraps – a comb, a handkerchief, bus tickets – when he was willing to give everything he had – his heart, his mind, his . . . his body – oh, his body! – to someone else. It wasn’t fair! It just wasn’t! It was me who loved him! Me! And I wept. Oh, how I wept. And I wanted revenge. Revenge on Troy for causing me such suffering. Such absolute and total . . . anguish. So the next day – ’
Flamingoes in Orbit Page 4
