by Nathan Davey
Once we were all together, Joe announced that it was time to go. Laura led the group out with Joe dragging his feet right at the back. Me and Lizzie got onto the Moped and sped through the archway and down the roads towards the Train Station. All we had to do was take the same route that we took on our first day in Edinburgh.
We arrived there in no time at all. We found our train and, while we waited for the others to arrive, we started to have the Moped stored away in the end carriage. Once again we had several very helpful people to assist us getting it in and tying it down. The moment it was securely fastened down, we went and stood just by the one of the carriage doors. We stood there so that when the others came, we could wave to them and help them find where they’re supposed to be.
The large group of people from our troupe eventually did arrive. Laura had become the soul leader now, as she led everyone through walkways and towards our platform. We waved to get their attention. Laura saw us and turned around to the group to announce that she’s spotted the train. Once we were stratified that they knew where the train was, me and Lizzie climbed on and found some seats.
The others filed into the carriage in their own time. A lot of them were laughing and joking around. It was as if the event of the previous day hadn’t taken place at all. Their faces were smiling, their spirits were high and they were ready to head on home. Everyone found seats without any problems. Joe sat in a seat completely alone at the end of the carriage.
It wasn’t too long before the train pulled out the station. When we were out of the city and passing the countryside, the woman with the trolley began to make her way through the carriage. The woman was looked quite young and covered in orange make up. The orange face looked bad against her blue uniform. No offence to her, as she was nice, but she looked a complete Pollock.
When she came to me and Lizzie, she asked us if we wanted anything.
“No I’m ok” said Lizzie, “What about you Aaron?”
“Can I have a cup of tea?” I asked,
“Sure” said the woman, “that’ll be £1”
I gave her one of the £5 notes from my pocket. Lizzie was confused at first, as she thought we were going to only spent money on things we needed. I didn’t say anything though, as she’ll understand in a few moments. The woman gave me £4 in change. She then handed me the tea in a polystyrene cup with a sachet of sugar and a little thimble-sized tub of milk.
Before Lizzie could say anything, I got up and walked down the carriage with the cup of tea. I walked down right to the end. Lizzie was staring at me from her seat with a deep frown on her face. Then she finally understood what I was up to, when I placed the tea, sugar and milk on the table in front of Joe Pepper. I gave him a brief smile, which he returned glumly, before heading back towards my seat.
When I sat down, I saw that Lizzie had a silly smirk on. I laughed as I hadn’t expected to see her pulling a face like that. She laughed as well.
“What’s that face all about?” I asked,
“”You soppy little git!” she said through laughter,
“Hey, he needed cheering up” I said, “He’s learnt his lesson, there’s no point to keep on being mean to him, it’s unfair init? He did pay after all and he gave us a place to stay for two nights. All bastards have a good side you know”
“Alright” said Lizzie smiling, “Chill out, Freud!”
That tickled me and made me laugh a fair bit.
The others on the train no longer ignored us. Some of them came over to sit with us for a chat. Once again we found ourselves having one of those “not really about anything” conversation. The girl, who was rude to us before, was telling us some funny stories about things that had happened to her at school. The stories were good, some of them were dead hilarious.
The entire journey back was calm and laidback. Everyone was having a laugh, singing songs and generally fooling around. Joe sipped at his tea and didn’t talk to anyone. Dave sat crossed armed and grumpy for the entire journey. Laura was chatting away and cackling loudly at a table with all of the other mothers.
The time just flew by. It had only just turned dark when we arrived at the Train Station in Epping. All of the parents who didn’t come to Edinburgh were all informed, via phone the night before, that we were coming home a lot earlier then expected. When the train pulled into the Station, we could see all of the parents standing on the platform. The faces of the parents were smiling with a mixture of worry and relief.
All of the young actors flooded onto the platform as soon as the train stopped and the carriage doors opened. They all went straight into the arms of their Mothers and Fathers. Within the warm and safe arms of their parents, the children could feel safe and secure. As everyone else came off of the train, I and Lizzie headed to the back to fetch the bike.
The Moped was soon on the platform and ready to go. I went to the back of the sidecar, opened the boot and took out the two helmets. I passed Lizzie’s hers while I strapped on mine. I was about to go and say goodbye to everyone, but I just couldn’t.
They were all so happy and joyous, that I didn’t really want to interrupt. Besides, I and Lizzie had done our bit. They no longer needed us. I turned to look at Lizzie, whose sad eyes expressed that we were both thinking the same thing. We both knew that it was time to move on to the next adventure. There was nothing else we could do for these people here. I smiled weakly at the sight of those children back in the arms of ones they loved, where they belonged.
We both climbed back onto the Moped and were about to set off, when Joe Pepper caught our attention. He was looking at us, with an odd look on his face. It was as if he was going to cry. At first nothing happened. His arm rose up and he waved to us, we returned the wave with a smile. He brought his hand down and whispered: “thank you”
I kicked the starter pedal and the engine roared into life. I gave Joe a final nod before speeding away down the platform. I turned left where it led out onto the main road. Once again we were on the highway, travelling along on our mission of peace and goodwill. Neither of us knew what was going to happen next.
“Where to now?” shouted Lizzie, over the noise of the Moped’s engine,
“Don’t know” I shouted back, “where do you want to go?”
“How about we go to where we wanted to go originally” she suggested “London”
“Good choice madam!” I shouted, “We should be there in no longer then half an hour”
“Very good, Jeeves” she shouted back, “Carry on!”
The destination was confirmed. I twisted the Moped handle and went zooming down the road. We drove past trucks, cars, lorries, vans, buses, coaches, motorbikes and other Mopeds. The dark was closing in and soon the road was awash in an orange glow from the street lights.
The wind whipped through our clothes and chilled us to the bone. We didn’t care. We were free. We were free to do what we wanted. What we wanted to do was try to change the country’s view on people like us, one small step at a time.
By this point we’d already gone up and down the country trying to do some good, but we weren’t finished yet. There were still some more surprises in store. Nothing on this trip went according to plan, but it usually turned out for the better. Even though we were heading for London, England’s great capital, I accidentally took a wrong turn and ended up somewhere unexpected.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
What should have been a half an hour journey, took over two hours. Both I and Lizzie were completely baffled by this. Neither of us knew that we’d gone the wrong way. I drove on and on through the night, determined that I was going in the right direction. I wasn’t though. I was pretty off. What I didn’t know was that I had in fact gone all the way around London, through Buckinghamshire and had ended up in Gloucestershire. I know, I was a right pleb.
When we should have been in the heart of the nation’s capital, we found ourselves driving through the countryside. We past farms, tractors, fields, sheep, cows and soon we came to a quaint little
farmer’s village. The place was made up of thatched fairy tale cottages. We drove past a few traditional pubs, little corner shops and alongside a wide river. We also drove through a village square where, according to a sign, the farmer’s market is held on a Monday.
We pulled up into a Bed and Breakfast to rest for the night. The place was in a little farmer’s village, which was hidden within the countryside. If we hadn’t followed the signs for the Bed and Breakfast, I doubt that we would have even found the village. It was nice. It was just a small, quaint and peaceful little village. It was the perfect place to chill out after our intense visit to Scotland, just somewhere nice and quiet.
The Bed and Breakfast itself was an old house that had been converted. Inside was like being inside someone’s front room. The “foyer” was nothing more then a small corridor with a staircase leading up to the various rooms. Sitting on a chair by the front door, was an old fella wearing a tweed waistcoat. He was asleep with his arms crossed and was snoring away. According to his name badge, his name was: Sir Phillip Taylor. He had a huge, bushy moustache and on his waistcoat were various military medals.
I and Lizzie just stood in the corridor, unsure whether or not to wake him up. We were very tired after two hours of travelling, fed up that we couldn’t find London and wanted some rest. This old bloke was doing some resting of his own, and it would have just been plain rude to wake him up. Lizzie spotted a brass bell on a small table against the wall. She walked up to the bell and hit the little button on top of it, making it give out a loud and high pitched ring.
This certainly woke up Phillip, as he launched from his seat and stood to attention giving us a salute. His sudden movement made the both of us jump with surprise. He faced the both of us, saluted us again and brought his arm straight to his side.
“Good Evening” he said, he spoke in a loud voice and had a posh accent, “Welcome to Victory House. My name is Sir Phillip Taylor, but you may call me Sir Phillip. I’m assuming that you require a room?”
“Yes” I replied, “We’re a couple, so a single will do fine”
“Jolly good!” he said, “Wonderful stuff, wonderful stuff. Would you like some breakfast in the morning?”
“Yes we would” answered Lizzie, “By the way, do you know where we could get some petrol, our Moped’s nearly empty”
“Well, ah . . .” he began as he gave the question thought, his thick grey eyebrows sunk into a frown, “ah yes! There’s a small petrol station just on the edge of town. I don’t imagine they’ll be open now, so I suggest that you go in the morning. Is that all you require, young sir and young madam?”
“Yes” I answered, “That’ll be quality!”
“Yes!” he said, as he went to his table to pick up the checking in book, “Quality it shall be! I promise you that your stay at Victory House will indeed be, as you say, quality. Right, just sign your names here . . . “
He held out a large leather bound book to us and gave us a pen to use. It was a simple lined paper book, on which Sir Phillip drew a basic table for checking people in. It had a place for the name and time you checked in, and a place for the time you checked out. Lizzie and me, in turn, wrote our names in the right place and copied the time from a clock that was hung on the wall behind Sir Philip.
“Jolly good” said the old man, “Spiffing, righto let me show you to your room. Do you have any luggage?”
“No” Lizzie replied, “We’ve only got the clothes we’re wearing”
“Ah yes” said Sir Philip, “simplistic. I like it. Only the essentials, what? That will be £20 then, £10 per night for the room and £5 each for the breakfast. Don’t pay me now though, you can do so whenever you decide to leave. Are you ready?”
“Yes” we replied in unison,
“Very good!” said the old man, “Then follow me, this way”
Sir Phillip was doing a little march in front of us and began to ascend the stairs.
“And a hup, two, three, four” said the old man, matching in time to his counting, “hup, two, three, four and a hup, two, three, four!”
Me and Lizzie, for a laugh, imitated the old man and marched up the stairs like we were in the army. When we arrived on the first landing, the old man did the march on tip toes and talked quieter.
“Hup two, three, four” he whispered, “and a hup two, three, four. Here we are!”
We finally arrived at the door. Silently Sir Philip handed us the keys. Lizzie put the key in the hole turned it and quietly opened the door. We both turned to Sir Philip and nodded to him with a smile. This was as a way of saying “thanks”, while at the same time not waking up any of the other residents. The wonderfully exocentric old man returned the smile and gave us another one of his salutes.
“Carry on!” he whispered.
The old man scurried away on tip toes. Even on tip toes he was still doing a sort of crouched march. Both of us kept on watching the funny old man until he disappeared down the stairs. As me and Lizzie stood there in the corridor, I had already decided that Sir Philip Taylor was an appsolute legend.
To me, Sir Philip Taylor was a perfect example of the Britain that once was, the Britain of optimism. The Britain of getting through moments of great darkness with a smile, a salute and a good old sing song. The spirit of Britain has gone in recent years, we now moan about daft things and choke ourselves on anti-depressives. Sir Philip was part of a generation that went through a horrific war, and yet came out the other end stronger then before. Now that, I think, is a role model to look up to. Everyone in this cynical world of ours should take a page out of Sir Phillip’s book. We need to bring that spirit back.
Lizzie and me went into the room and found it to be nice. It looked like a bedroom of someone’s house, as I guess that’s what it used to be. The bed was large and had a very old fashioned duvet cover on it with a floral pattern. An old television was up on a shelf in the corner, the remote for it was lying on the bed. Opposite the bed was an old fashioned table with white paint, pink outlining and on the bottom of the table legs were supports designed to look like a bird’s claws.
Lizzie sat down in front of the table as there was a large mirror sitting on it, she grabbed a comb that was lying on the table and sorted out her messy hair. That’s the only thing about riding bikes with a helmet; it gives you bad helmet hair when you take it off. If you don’t what helmet hair means, it basically is when your hair sort of moulds into the shape of the helmet you’ve been wearing. It can really make you look like a pleb.
I sat on the bed but didn’t turn on the telly, as I didn’t want to wake everyone else up. I just sat there and stared at the ceiling. I was reminded then of how I used to do this in my bedroom back home. I completely forgot that I used to enjoying doing this. Staring up at that ceiling I could finally concentrate and get my mind in the right place. A lot had been happening in those last few days. Now it was the time to let it all sink in, a time of recollection, a time for me to fully understand what me and Lizzie had done so far on this road trip.
When I really thought about it, I realised that we’d both done a lot in the last few days. We’ve already been to Scotland and back, helped out a rock band, helped some young actors escape from a violent mob, helped a young man find love and helped a silly old man learn his lesson. I lay there feeling quite proud of all we had accomplished, but knew that there was always going to be room for more.
We were in the countryside, so I was thinking of the possible people who might like our help. A farmer might want some extra hands on his farm, I thought, maybe we could assist the village in their annual harvest, who knows?
As I pondered this, Lizzie came and sat next to me. She lay down beside me, shuffled up to me, wrapped her arms around me and gave me a kiss. I returned the kiss and held her hand. She rested her head on my shoulder and breathed slowly.
Once again, even though I really wanted to, this was not the place for our first time. The room the nice, the atmosphere was nice, everyone else was asleep, the count
ryside outside the window was nice and everything was nice. The only thing that was lingering on my mind, was the possibility of Sir Philip walking in. The last thing I wanted during sex is him barging in and shouting: “Do it for England! Tally-ho! Show her what for! Ha-ha!”.
No, a bit of a turn off, don’t you think. It wasn’t the right time yet. I had no idea what the right time might be. Besides, I wasn’t in any hurry to have sex. I loved Lizzie. Anything we do together gave me pleasure beyond belief. In a relationship, sex is just an extra pleasure, whereas the love itself is the main pleasure. It’s such a shame that boys and girls my age are so pressured into having sex. Sex and sleeping isn’t really that important when you’re a teenager, yes I feels good, but what do you get out of it other then a higher chance of getting Herpes?
Maybe this is just me. I know that everyone has their philosophies and theories about sex. Personally I only think that sex can be as beautiful as it should be, when it’s performed with someone you truly love. Your love for that person fuels the pleasure and makes it an unforgettable moment, other then doing some nasty hooker that you’d rather forget about.
That night was like all of the others nights as we just snuggled, kissed and fell asleep in each other’s arms. No sex, just love. At the time, I have to admit, I was pretty happy with that. Being with Lizzie was enough. To hold her in my arms, to feel her body against mine and smell her perfume was enough for me. I didn’t need any extra thrills. I loved her. I can’t really say it enough, I fucking love that girl! Sorry for the dodgy language, I just needed a stronger word to add to my case.
We slept peacefully that night, with no idea where we were. We did not expect what was to happen the following morning. If we had known where we were, I think that we would have been too excited to sleep. We slept silently in that lovely, soft and spongy bed, without knowing that we were about to take part in one of the most famous annual events in Britain. If only we’d known.
Then again, the surprise that came the following was fantastic. The sun was shining thoroughly through the thin curtains. The birds were singing and the fresh country air filled the room from the open window. We were just lying in the bed and enjoying the relaxing atmosphere, when Sir Philip burst into the room.
