Coco Pinchard's Must-Have Toy Story

by Robert Bryndza

  “Look at this old lady! You can see her knickers when she climbs over this… What do you call this barrier?”

  “The central reservation. That’s Daniel’s mother. My mother-in-law,” I explained.

  “She looks a little crazy.”

  “You don’t know the half of it,” I said. I lit up another cigarette and offered another to Marika. “So how do you get to work?” I asked.

  “The tube train, on the red line from Epping.”

  “You’re living out in Epping? That’s miles away!”

  “I have to get the bus to Epping tube and then I change at Oxford Circus to get up here.”

  “But that must take you ages?”

  “Two hours, sometimes two and half…”

  She smiled and flicked the ash from her cigarette.

  “I’m happy to be here though. It’s hard to get a work permit for England, and teachers at home make nothing.”

  “Did you always want to be a teacher?” I asked.

  “I like kids, well, I thought I did, but the past four months at St Duke’s have made me think again. What about you?” she asked.

  “I had, have… no, had dreams of being a writer but life seems to have got in the way. I had my son four years ago, and then my parents died, leaving me a business which was bankrupt. I had to get serious. I thought teaching English would be bearable, but… St Duke’s is…” I trailed off.

  “No wonder they call it St Puke’s,” grinned Marika.

  I laughed too, adding, “I think you’re the first sane person I’ve met there.”

  “Mr Wednesday, the Art teacher, has been kind,” said Marika.

  “Are you two…?” I asked.

  “No. He is just a friend,” said Marika.

  “He’s rather gorgeous too, but he seems to spend the whole time in his art room and then leaves when the bell goes. Is he married? Gay?”

  “I don’t think he is married. And I have never met a gay man, so I wouldn’t know,” shrugged Marika.

  “You’ve never met a gay man?” I exclaimed.

  Marika shook her head.

  “But we’re in London! Gay men are everywhere!”

  “In Slovakia things like that are kept quiet. It’s a beautiful country but very… religious. Oh, I must sound like such a villager!”

  “No. I was just teasing. In fact, thanks,” I said.

  “For what?”

  “Coming to lunch, listening…”

  Marika grinned.

  “What do you think I should do about The Ripper?” I added.

  “I’d sell him the toy for a big profit,” she said, exhaling cigarette smoke out of the corner of her mouth.

  “But Rosencrantz really, really wants Tracy Island for Christmas.”

  “But this is your job, Coco. Your source of income to live. Can’t you get your son a toy plane or a boat?”

  “You don’t understand,” I sighed.

  “I don’t think you understand, Coco. There is a recession on, you have a job and you are willing to risk it all for a child’s toy? Are material things that important?” When she put it like that I couldn’t argue. “I’m sorry if I am direct, but I am direct with all my friends,” she added.

  “Do you want to be friends?” I said.

  “Yes, you just passed the interview.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  “I’m joking,” she grinned. “You are the first person in England I have been to lunch with.”

  “How long have you been in England?”

  “Five months,” she said.

  As we drove back to school I took stock of everything. I realised just how lucky I was.

  * * *

  When I got home, and whilst Rosencrantz was in the living room watching Noddy’s Adventures In Toyland, I told Daniel what had transpired at school.

  “I’ll knock his bloody block off! What a twat!” said Daniel, reaching for his coat on the back of his chair.

  “Yes, thank you. That will solve all our problems, you punching my boss.”

  “I’m not having him blackmailing my wife!” he said, pulling on his coat.

  “This is how men run the world.” I rolled my eyes. “Smacking each other about because they don’t like what they hear.”

  “Where does he live?”

  “High Barnet.”

  “Oh,” said Daniel, looking at the heavy snow falling outside the kitchen window.

  “Oh! The romance,” I said. “No, Marika is right, I should just sell him the toy at a profit.”

  “That’s giving in!”

  “Don’t you worry, I’ll find a way to get back at him.”

  “But what about Rosencrantz? He’s desperate for Tracy Island. It’s the only thing he wants for Christmas,” said Daniel.

  On cue Rosencrantz came bursting into the kitchen.

  “Mummy! Daddy! Can I have a Bumpy Dog for Christmas?” he asked breathlessly.

  “A Bumpy Dog?” I said.

  “Yes, like the one Noddy has got. He’s white and small and a bit bumpy, but I could train him!”

  Daniel looked at me.

  “Pleeeeeease Mummy and Daddy, can I have a Bumpy Dog for Christmas?” he said, jiggling on the spot in anticipation.

  “What about Tracy Island?” asked Daniel.

  Rosencrantz screwed up his face in concentration and put his hand down the front of his trousers.

  “You don’t need to fiddle with yourself,” I said.

  “Sorry, Mummy, it helps me think. Daddy does it too.”

  “No I don’t,” said Daniel quickly.

  “I think,” said Rosencrantz, “that forty-three percent of me wants a Tracy Island, but a massive four hundred percent of me wants a Bumpy Dog.”

  “But you’ve already written to Father Christmas,” Daniel reminded him. “Ow!” he added as I kicked him under the table.

  “The secretary at my school knows everyone’s number. What if I got her to fax the North Pole, saying you’ve changed your mind and you want a Bumpy Dog?” I suggested.

  “Does Father Christmas have a fax machine?” wondered Daniel.

  “YES, he does,” I said, rounding on him. “He’s got flying reindeer, so it goes without saying he’s got a fax machine.”

  Rosencrantz was looking at us seriously. “So you can ask her, on tomorrow, if she can fax Father Christmas so he can get me a Bumpy Dog?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Not too bumpy though, Mummy. I wouldn’t want it to knock Nan over.”

  “Of course,” I said.

  Rosencrantz seemed satisfied and went back to the living room.

  “So as well as not giving him Tracy Island, we’re now promising him a dog?” said Daniel.

  We were quiet for a moment; Daniel put his hand down his trousers deep in thought.

  “Not you too! Leave it alone!” I snapped.

  Thursday 17th December

  I got to school early this morning and asked to see The Ripper in his office. Miss Marks showed me through. He was eating Rice Krispies at his desk with a huge napkin tucked into the collar of his shirt.

  “Ah, Mrs Pinchard,” he said, wiping his mouth and indicating the seat opposite.

  I sat and waited for Miss Marks to bugger off. When she’d gone, I took Tracy Island out of a carrier bag, and placed it carefully on the desk in front of him.

  A hush seemed to descend on the room, broken by the occasional snap, crackle, and pop from his cereal.

  He pushed the bowl to one side and pulled out a pair of reading glasses. He polished them slowly, then popped them on and began to peer at the box, turning it over. A clock ticked loudly. I felt like I was on the Antiques Roadshow and he was going to tell me what a marvellous find it was.

  “I’m selling it to you for a hundred pounds,” I said.

  Daniel and I had agreed that The Ripper was on a good salary and the bastard could at least cover all of our Christmas booze, plus crackers and a new set of fairy lights.

  “And that’s wha
t you paid for it, Mrs Pinchard? Tracy Island retails at £34.99,” said The Ripper, looking at me over the top of his glasses.

  “You saw the people at the back of that van, Headmaster. The wild-eyed hysteria. The closer we get to Christmas, the more valuable these become,” I said.

  “So it will cost me almost three times as much?”

  “Yes, and during January I won’t be doing playground duty either.”

  He raised his eyebrows and sat back.

  “Are you in a position to negotiate?” he said.

  I noticed beside his phone there was a picture of The Ripper with his family. His wife was small and quite ferocious-looking. His son had an unfortunate mix of their genes. I went to pick up the box. He put his hand on mine.

  “No, hang on, I’m sure something can be arranged,” he said. I shivered and pulled my hand away.

  I left his office with five crisp twenty-pound notes and a promise I wouldn’t have to stand in the cold during January blowing a whistle. I ran to the toilets and thought I was going to be sick. My heart was pounding. That man terrified me. I ran the tap and splashed cold water on my face. I felt complete despair at losing Rosencrantz’s Christmas present, but I would keep my job.

  Right now, if I could get away with it, I could have quite happily killed The Ripper.

  Friday 18th December

  The kids were unbearable at school today, and who could blame them? Christmas was now tantalisingly close. I couldn’t believe we had to come back next week on Monday and Tuesday before the Christmas holidays began.

  Like politics, a week is a long time at St Duke’s, and the teaching staff were more concerned about a pending redundancy. Whispers were going round about who it would be, and Miss Bruce was getting a kick out of knowing it wasn’t her. She sat watching everyone from a ripped armchair under the window, chomping on a blackened banana.

  Marika came up to me by the tea urn, and asked if I was okay. I said that Daniel was at home, working the phone and trying to get hold of another Tracy Island.

  “What about you? You look like you haven’t slept a wink!” I said, noticing how exhausted she was with dark circles under her eyes. “I’m sure you’re safe from the redundancy,” I added hopefully.

  “It’s not that. My electricity has stopped working,” she said quietly.

  “Marika, it went down to minus five last night!” I cried.

  “I know.”

  “Has the circuit breaker tripped?”

  “My landlord hasn’t paid the bill,” she said.

  Marika went on to say that she hadn’t got a phone, so I insisted she came back home with me at lunch time to use ours and get it sorted.

  When we came through the front door, Daniel was lolling on the sofa, still in his dressing gown, watching Sons and Daughters.

  “Cokes, you didn’t tell me you were coming back,” he yelped, leaping up, smoothing down his hair, and making sure nothing was hanging out of the gap in his pyjama bottoms. I introduced him to Marika.

  “Hello,” he smiled.

  “What have you found out about Tracy Island?” I asked.

  “Um, I’ve got some good leads,” he said.

  “Like what?” I probed, taking in his breakfast things which were still on the coffee table.

  “I think I’ll go and, er, get dressed… I don’t normally loll around watching Australian soaps all day,” he said before bolting upstairs.

  “He should be organising Christmas, not watching bloody crap on TV,” I grumbled when he’d gone.

  We’d stopped off on the way back and bought jacket potatoes, and we sat on the sofa eating them out of the containers.

  “Does he have a job?” asked Marika, through a mouthful of potato.

  “Yes, he writes music for pantomimes and plays. He’s a composer.”

  “Is he writing something now?”

  “No, he finished for Christmas,” I said.

  We chewed for a moment.

  “When does he start again?” asked Marika.

  “I’m… not sure, he’s looking for work,” I said.

  Marika looked at me for a moment and went to say more, but I changed the subject and phoned the electricity board. I found out that Marika’s landlord owed £195. Marika paled when she heard that.

  “My rent is supposed to be all-inclusive!” she said.

  I asked her if she could pay it over the phone with her credit card and then get the money back from her landlord, but she said she couldn’t afford it. I then offered to pay, but she wasn’t having any of that. I put the phone down and there was an awkward moment broken by the front door bell.

  I went to answer it, and came back through into the living room with my best friend, Chris. Marika looked a little shocked when she saw what he was wearing: a floor-length yellow and sky blue tartan winter coat and Ray-Bans.

  “Just call me Mother Christmas!” he said, waving a piece of paper and handing it to me with a flourish.

  “What’s this?” I asked, taking it from him.

  “It’s a distribution list!”

  “What?”

  “Dad gets daily print-outs for his catering business. You know, when he’s got merchandise coming in at the docks, blah blah blah.”

  “Why would I want to know about what’s arriving for your dad’s catering business?” I asked.

  “Daniel rang me and told me you were looking for a Tracy Island. So I asked my father to pull a few favours with the freight import companies, and I can tell you that there are two thousand Tracy Islands due to dock in Portsmouth later today!”

  “Two thousand?” I gasped, scanning the paper he’d given me.

  “They’re for the whole country, Cokes. But the good news is that Hamley’s toy shop in Regent Street is scheduled to receive two hundred tomorrow morning. They open at nine.”

  “Oh Chris!” I said, hugging him.

  Marika stood shyly by the sofa in her smart work suit and stockinged feet.

  “Sorry! Marika, meet Chris,” I added, letting him go.

  “Are you a social worker?” asked Chris, taking in her off-the-peg work suit and shaking her hand.

  “No. I’m a science teacher,” said Marika.

  “What’s that accent?” asked Chris.

  “Slovak,” said Marika.

  “You’ve got gorgeous cheekbones! And your hair is to die for!” he cried.

  He unbuttoned his coat and underneath was wearing a denim three–piece-suit with sliver buttons and a red necktie. He reached into a pocket and pulled out a roll of fifty-pound notes.

  “I also wanted to give you this, Cokes, to add to Rosencrantz’s building society account in my capacity as godfather,” said Chris, peeling four fifties off and handing them to me. “It’s from me and Benji. Benji is my new boyfriend,” he added to Marika. She nodded, still rather shocked at the encounter.

  “Have you seen Cats?” asked Chris.

  “Yes. I live above a Chinese restaurant and cats visit the rubbish bins all night,” said Marika dourly. Chris looked thrown.

  “No, I meant Andrew Lloyd Webber’s Cats – in the West End. Benji, my new boyfriend, he plays Rum Tum Tugger, the arrogant Tom… And he gets on like a house on fire with Elaine Paige. He’s promised he’ll arrange for me to meet her. She’s apparently very tiny, Elaine. Benji reckons she could fit through my cat flap, which is quite ironic, don’t you think?”

  Marika looked totally confused.

  “Look, Chris, we’ve got to get back to work. Thanks so much for the Tracy Island list and the money for Rosencrantz,” I said.

  “And you’d best get down to Hamley’s early tomorrow, Cokes. Dad says loads of people have been told about this,” added Chris.

  Daniel came back downstairs, now dressed.

  “Hi Chris,” he said.

  “Hi Daniel. What happened in Sons and Daughters today?”

  “I don’t know. I didn’t see it all,” said Daniel defensively.

  “Chris has found out Hamley’s is getting
two hundred Tracy Islands tomorrow,” I enthused, “And he’s given Rosencrantz two hundred pounds for his building society account.”

  “Thank you,” said Daniel, although he didn’t seem pleased. “Nice suit,” he added. “I saw a guy wearing one just like it when I went out yesterday.”

  “Where?” asked Chris.

  “Marylebone High Street. He was pushing a Christmas tree along in a wheelbarrow.”

  Chris looked annoyed.

  “Bugger! I knew my tailor was a lying bastard as well as a perv. I can cope with being felt up when he measures my inside leg, but lying about this suit being an original. I need to have words… Right, I’d best be off, Cokes. Lovely to meet you Marika.” Chris gave a surprised Marika a kiss, buttoned up his coat and left.

  “In case you hadn’t realised, Marika, that was your first encounter with a gay man,” I said.

  Marika laughed and Daniel scowled and went off upstairs.

  “Did you order a turkey? And what about a tree?” I yelled up, as he took the stairs two at a time.

  “I will,” he shouted.

  “And we’re going to Hamley’s in the morning, early. So ring Ethel and ask if she can come and stay tonight so she can be with Rosencrantz tomorrow.”

  “Yes!” he shouted moodily.

  Marika and I stood awkwardly in silence for a moment in the hall. Her eyes flickered to the two hundred quid I was holding. I stuffed it in my pocket and we made our way back to school.

  Saturday 19th December

  When we left the house this morning at six o’clock it was pitch black outside and the orange light from the street lamps could barely make it through the freezing fog.

  “Now don’t be shy about pushing people, and if someone falls over in the stampede don’t help ‘em up,” said Ethel, handing us a flask of tea at the front door. “Particularly you, Coco. Yer far too nice fer yer own good.”

  “I’m nice too,” protested Daniel.

  “No, yer like me, son,” said Ethel.

  “I don’t know when we’ll be back,” I told her.

  “I can be ‘ere all day. Rosencrantz will be fine, love. Just bring ‘im back Tracy Island,” said Ethel.