‘Oh, be like that. See if I care,’ said Thomas.
As Thomas finished his last drink, Barry moved to get up. Thomas saw him and somehow got to his feet also. There was no hope of his walking unassisted so Barry grabbed hold of him and escorted him outside. Luckily, Thomas’ mother’s house was only a few streets away, so they set off to walk home slowly.
‘Barry,’ said Thomas. ‘I don’t like what people think of us male nurses. They think we’re all gay, Well I’m not gay - no, I’m not.’
Thomas seemed to be trying to defend himself before being attacked and Barry didn’t know what to say for the best. He had got the idea that Thomas may, in fact, have been gay, and so was trying to get Barry to say that he didn’t mind gays and this frightened him.
‘Err... okay Thomas, okay. I know you’re not gay,’ said Barry, trying to make Thomas believe that he wasn’t gay, but at the same time hoping that Thomas wouldn’t continue.
‘No, I’m not gay,’ said Thomas. ‘I know some people in the priesthood who are, but not me. This reassured Barry and then he breathed a sigh of relief as they entered the road where they were staying.
Thomas’ mother answered the door and, guessing at the state of her son, took his arm to usher him in.
‘No, I’m all right thank you very much, mother,’ said Thomas, with as much briskness in his voice as he could muster and then he took himself off to bed.
Barry went to bed, thinking about the evening. Nothing untoward had happened - so nothing to worry about, he told himself and he drifted off to sleep.
The next day, Thomas tried to make light of his state of the previous evening.
‘I think we got away with it,’ he whispered, as his mother walked out of the room. ‘Anyhow, I’ve seen enough of this city so let’s go south. I’ve got some friends down there so we can get a bed for a couple of nights.’
‘Where are we going to stay?’
‘Never you mind. You’ll be all right.’
Barry wondered where they were going. It wouldn’t be to any gay friends, would it? He consoled himself by thinking that they were going home the day after tomorrow and hopefully Thomas wouldn’t attempt to do anything too bad.
Thomas told his mother of their plans and she was a little sorry to see her son leave so quickly, but then, she knew that he had always been hard to tie down.
They packed and were soon off. The journey was different from the first because Thomas was playing with the accelerator. He drove normally, then he pushed his foot down on the floor and then took it off again. Barry could tell that he was annoyed about something - but what? Then the moment came when Thomas really got frustrated when they got stuck in a traffic jam on the motorway,
‘Oh no! What’s happening here? Oh good grief - they’re not doing road works on a Sunday are they? Humph - more likely some idiot has piled his car into a lorry. Can you see any road going off the motorway, Barry?’
‘I can see some sign of movement down the road, but it will take a long time to get there.’
‘Where, oh yes. Well, we’ll see about that.’
Thomas very slowly manoeuvred the car towards the inside lane, not taking any notice of anyone who tooted their horn. When they were there, he said, ‘Hold onto your hat’ and took off down the hard shoulder.
Within seconds they had reached the turn off and they still couldn’t see the cause of the traffic jam so Thomas took the best possible direction and they were off again. This pleased Thomas for he felt that he had gained some respect after the previous day’s humiliation,
They arrived and Thomas knew his way around quite well. They went past the city centre and through the high gates of a large house.
‘Where are we?’ asked Barry, perplexed.
‘This is another house where the medical staff work. It is a hospice. I have worked here, in the past.’
‘A what?’
‘A hospice - surely you know what that is.’
Well, err. I’ve never had much to do with one. It’s where people die isn’t it?’
‘No, it’s where nurses tend to the very sick and ease their passing from this world. They are highly trained nurses and do a marvellous job.’
‘The patients still die, don’t they?’
‘Oh, get out of the car,’ said Thomas in an almost mockingly exasperated way.
They were met by the Matron who knew Thomas well and they spent the afternoon chatting and ate a meal in the evening,
They spent a pleasant Monday seeing the sights and in the evening, it was off to the ritual establishment. This pub, however, did seem a bit of a dive with scruffy individuals supping beer.
‘Now, Barry, you see that man there. You don’t want to go near him or stare at him for too long.’
‘How do you know that,’ said Barry.
‘I know this town quite well and I know what some people have done. You see, we nurses know some things that even the police don’t know.’
That seemed logical to Barry. What with all of the patients talking to them, these nurses must have known about many dark deeds. Barry still had the feeling that Thomas was trying to look big but he decided that there was no harm in taking his advice.
The man in question was a burly individual who didn’t look too pleasant when he then started to glare at them.
‘Okay, he’s watching us now. Drink up and let’s go,’ said Thomas. They finished their drinks and hotfooted it from the building and as they got outside, Thomas let out a sigh of relief.
‘That was lively! Did you see the way he was looking at us? He was planning something.’
Barry, a bit bemused by this, agreed for the man had looked suspicious, but hardly life-threatening.
‘Are you sure?’ asked Barry.
‘Mark my words, we’re best away from there,’ said Thomas, as he marched Barry back to the hospice.
Tuesday dawned and they drove home after breakfast. They got back before lunch and spent the afternoon chatting about their trip with Barry’s mum. After tea, Thomas got up.
‘Well, I’m on the early shift, tomorrow, so I’d better get home for a good night’s sleep.’
‘Not going to the pub, tonight?’ asked Barry.
‘I might pop in for a small one. Depends how I feel,’ said Thomas, but he couldn’t hide a smile.
‘See you then, Thomas, and thanks for the holiday,’ said Barry and Thomas left, jangling his keys.
Chapter Seven
The Easter holiday was over and Barry started the new term begrudgingly. He realised that this was the last term his old mates would be there, and then only for half the term. He sat thinking dark thoughts in a cubicle for private study in the sixth form centre,
‘Hello, mate.’ Mark came in rustling a packet of crisps. ‘D’ya want a crisp?’
‘Okay ta,’ said Barry. ‘So, are you looking forward to you’re A-level exams, then?’ he asked with an evil smile on his face.
‘Ah, no - I’m looking forward to freedom!’ Mark chuckled. ‘Just think, no Mr Dolen following me around and having to sneak away for a quick fag - freedom!’
‘Suppose you fail your exams - will you come back?’
‘Not likely! Once I’m out through these doors, I ain’t coming back. I’m not here like you for another year, ha, ha.’
‘Oh, fuck off,’ said Barry, grinning.
Mark was such an amiable character - even when making fun of you, he did it in a way that seemed humorous, not spiteful.
‘At least I haven’t got to find a job to earn my living.’
‘Yeah, well, I’ll be all right,’ said Mark and went off to find his books for the next class.
The term seemed to drag by with Barry having his usual trouble with writing. He was using his left hand and, although it was faster than his ri
ght and not at all painful, the writing was still very slow and untidy. He told himself that he must continue with his left hand because he didn’t know if his right arm would ever get better. He found that his writing did improve at the end of a long essay when using his left hand, but then it returned to the bad state the next day. Barry had a year to improve his writing before he sat his A levels.
That summer came around after the term had finally ended. The school had offered Barry a chance to get some work experience and some cash by introducing him, and some others, to a five - week period of work in a bank. Barry was pleased to get some independence back into his life and although the work was mainly number crunching, it paid quite well and gave him something to do. His mates were all busy looking for jobs and so couldn’t have been with Barry if he had stayed at home.
Barry already planned what to do with some of the money. He, Mark, Ben, Beverley, Stan and Clive were all going to the coast for a holiday. Stan, Clive, Mark and Barry were going for a week and Ben and Beverley were just popping down for a couple of days.
That summer was really hot. Every day, it was about 24°C with bright sun and no clouds. The bank, of course, had a good air conditioning system so it was only uncomfortable when Barry was travelling home. Never mind, if the weather stayed hot, the holiday would be great. Barry had had enough of the English summers - rain, cloud and not much sun, year after year so he just couldn’t wait for the day they would set off. He had to travel to the coast by train - his mates were all going down by bike which reminded Barry of the good old days, two years ago, when his friends Phil, Mark and his brother, Ivan, and he had all gone to the coast by motorbike.
They had had an amusing journey down with the bikes travelling at Mark’s old moped’s top speed of thirty mph along the flat - and ten mph uphill! At times Barry had had fun opening the throttle on his sports moped and flashing past Phil’s Yamaha 200 feeling very happy at ‘beating’ the monster, but Phil had just yawned, touched his throttle and disappeared in a cloud of blue, two-stroke smoke! Mark hadn’t worried and once overtook Barry down a hill when Barry thought the bike would explode, but it kept on going.
The journey had taken all day but finally they arrived at the campsite. The money went down very quickly during the holiday, but they were having a good time. All, that is, except for Ivan. You see, Phil knew how to get on Ivan’s nerves - and he loved it, so he just kept on goading Ivan into a temper until, on Wednesday, Ivan had had enough.
‘I’m sorry Barry, but I can’t stand anymore of Phil. He’s really making me angry.’
‘Oh don’t worry, Ivan he’s just joking,’ said Barry, trying to calm his brother down.
‘No, I’m sorry but I’ve had enough and I’m going home.’
‘But Ivan, you’ll miss four days’ holiday. Surely it would be a shame...’
‘No, no - I’m going.’
Ivan started to pack his bags so Barry went to tell the others.
‘Oh, what a shame,’ said Phil, grinning. ‘Say Ivan - you’re not leaving because of me?’ He was winding Ivan up yet again and Mark couldn’t help but laugh.
‘Err, Ivan,’ said Barry.
‘What?’ replied Ivan.
‘You haven’t spent all your money yet and I am getting a bit short.’
‘I’m sorry but if I gave some to you, then he would get some of it.’
‘No, no, I wouldn’t give him any, I would use it all for myself’ pleaded Barry.
‘No. You would pay more so he would benefit. I’m sorry but if it were just you, then I would - but seeing that he’s here...’
Ivan couldn’t be shifted. He finished packing, got on his bike and, as a parting shot, Phil piped up.
‘Do you know the way home Ivan? I wouldn’t want you to get lost!’
Ivan started his bike, and with a two-fingered salute, rode away.
‘Thought we’d never get rid of him,’ said Phil.
‘I’ll hear a lot more of this later,’ said Barry.
‘Nah, he’ll forget it. Let’s go for a ride to The Jewel. See you there,’ said Phil and, after that, the holiday had continued peacefully.
The three had just managed to make the money last until the final evening and then they decided that they had enough for only one pint each. They went to their favourite pub and drank the beer slowly.
‘Well, that’s it. Pity your miserly brother didn’t lend us a few quid,’ said Phil, seeming to rue his earlier taunts.
‘Yeah, but at least I’ve got enough petrol,’ said Mark.
‘And me, too,’ said Barry. ‘Mine does ninety miles to the gallon. What does yours do, Phil?’
‘About forty, and that’s if I’m lucky. I hope I’ve got enough!’
The next day they had set off at a slow pace and had made it about halfway back when Phil’s bike suddenly stopped.
‘Oh no, I’ve run out of petrol,’ exclaimed Phil.
‘Tell you what, take some petrol from my bike and you should make it to a petrol station,’ said Mark. Phil had just enough money left for one gallon of petrol but had waited too long to find a garage to spend his last few pennies. The lads lifted up the Mobylette and poured about a quarter of a gallon into Phil’s petrol tank.
‘Thanks, Mark,’ said Phil.
‘Ah, s’all right - just don’t run out again,’ said Mark.
They rode off, found a garage about three miles farther on and completed the journey without further incident.
Those were great times, thought Barry.
The day for the holiday dawned and Barry set off to go to Waterloo. He had his sunglasses and his summer clothes and he felt good but this was all to change!
At the station, he was waiting on the platform for the train to the coast when he looked up and saw funny things that looked like clouds scudding across the sky. It had to happen. Just as he was going to have a holiday with Mediterranean type weather, the first drops of rain fell. As the train sped southwards, the weather got worse, but he made himself feel better by reminding himself about the coming week with his mates, on a campsite on the island.
The week was quite good - pub was followed by pub, followed by maybe another pub. He certainly had much more money than last time so this made up somewhat for his incapacity and lack of transport.
On the Thursday, he decided to go to a disco just for the hell of it. He knew that he couldn’t dance - he couldn’t even walk without people staring at him - but he felt that he would just like to see how it made him feel inside. Clive was very interested in music and so he went too, although he was too shy to dance and chat up the girls. They found a disco and went in.
‘Cor, I really love this groovy music,’ said Clive, with obvious sarcasm.
Barry felt that it was directed at him so he said, ‘well it’s not too bad, Clive, is it?’ At this, Clive adopted his mock throwing-up stance, but he was laughing loudly and so Barry didn’t feel too bad.
They paid their twenty pence each to get in and immediately Barry felt out of place. The young boys and girls were dancing wildly in the middle of the room, but Barry felt eyes piercing into him from the people at the sides of the room. Nevertheless, he followed Clive to a vacant spot and sat down quickly.
‘Yeah, err... right,’ said Clive, trying to analyse the type of people who would fling themselves around to teeny-bop music.
‘Well, it’s different,’ exclaimed Barry.
‘Yes, err... right,’ said Clive, laughing.
Stan walked in just then. He was in the form below Barry at school and had become friendly with Mark and Clive. Barry wasn’t too keen on the lad because he was always trying to make people laugh with corny jokes, but his heart was in the right place, and because he liked bikes, the others tolerated him.
‘Hiya folks - what’s happening? Sounds like fun!’
&n
bsp; ‘Hello, Stan,’ said Clive, stifling a mock yawn.
Stan put his helmet down and looked around the room.
‘How’s the crumpet? Have you picked up anyone yet, Barry?’
Stan felt sorry for Barry and always tried to look on the bright side of things to make Barry feel better.
‘No, Stan - no I haven’t,’ said Barry. ‘Mind you, if you want you can go and chat up a bird for me.’
‘No, it’s all right, I’ll watch for the time being.’ So they sat in the disco for an hour, none of them really doing anything and then they left for a real place of entertainment - the pub next to the campsite.
The rest of the week was spent sightseeing, and going to the pub and then it was back home. A fine time was had by all and Barry just had a few more days’ holiday before the start of his final school year - second time around.
Barry could remember how he had felt before the accident - he was going to try his hardest to learn but this time, however much he tried, he couldn’t work up the mental energy to feel the same way.
Before the accident, he had had good control of words and a strong logic, these abilities probably being controlled by the left half of the brain, whereas now, the right side that he was using may have governed feelings and visualising and gave him his non-conformist attitude which was hardly any good for his determination. Barry just hoped that he that he would recover and put his absence of vocabulary down to his bad memory. This lack of word power and his bad writing performance would, of course, affect his results in the examinations. He couldn’t be expected to realise this and, anyway, the school was probably the best place for him to become socially integrated again so it was an appropriate place to spend the next year.
The term started and Barry had to endure the continued late arrival of his father at their meeting place for the trip to school.
‘Do you think you could be more punctual tomorrow, Dad?’ said Barry, one day when his father arrived at 8.50 am. - twenty minutes late.
Would You Believe Him? Page 8
