Lucky Break

by Rob Stevens

  ‘You could borrow a pair of mine,’ I said.

  ‘Look I said no, OK?’

  ‘But you’re sliding around all over the shop,’ said Tom.

  ‘What shop?’

  ‘What size feet have you got? I’ve got a pair of boots in my bag you can borrow.’

  Because Arnold’s voice was normally so calm, the outburst that came next was all the more surprising.

  ‘I said I’m all right, all right?’ he screamed so loudly that a couple of dog walkers about fifty yards away stopped and turned round to see who was shouting in the park like a lunatic. ‘If I wanted to change my shoes I would have agreed to your suggestion straightaway, wouldn’t I? Coming up with different shoes I might borrow doesn’t alter the fact that I’m quite happy with these trainers thank you very much. I don’t care if you’re offering me Leon’s trainers or Tom’s boots, the answer is still the same. I don’t want to change my shoes.’

  Tom and Ash looked at each other then me. Even Ash’s dark complexion seemed to have drained a little.

  ‘Sorry, Arnold,’ I said. ‘You haven’t quite made yourself clear. Do you want to borrow some trainers or not?’

  As Arnold’s head snapped round and he fixed me with a fiery gaze, I clapped and did jazz hands. His expression softened and his mouth relaxed into a smile.

  ‘Sorry,’ he laughed. ‘I did lose my temper a bit there, didn’t I?’

  There was relieved laughter all round and we went back to playing the game. Arnold slipped over a few more times but nobody made any comment on his footwear. After an hour or so everyone was exhausted so we decided to stop the game with Tom and Ash about five tries in the lead.

  ‘Well played,’ Tom said, taking a long swig from a water bottle he had stashed in a rucksack. ‘You’re really quick, Arnold. Good hands too.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Arnold replied, shaking Tom’s outstretched hand.

  Tom offered Arnold his bottle but Arnold shook his head.

  ‘It’s OK,’ Tom urged. ‘I’ve got plenty.’

  ‘Oh, it’s not that,’ said Arnold pleasantly. ‘I just don’t want to catch any illness that might be transferred into my body through your saliva.’

  Ash, who was mid-swig at the time, gagged and sprayed a mouthful of water all over me. ‘Don’t take it personally, Tom,’ he laughed, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. ‘Tell it like it is, Arnold.’

  ‘It’s nothing personal,’ said Arnold, apparently baffled by the amusement he’d caused. ‘All sorts of bacteria lurk in saliva. I wouldn’t share a bottle with any of you.’

  ‘Good man,’ Tom grinned, high-fiving Arnold. ‘I like a guy who isn’t afraid to speak his mind.’

  ‘In that case, you’re going to get along like a house on fire,’ I laughed. ‘If you want an honest opinion, just ask Arnold.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Ash, drumming his fingers on his chin. ‘What do you think of Tom’s haircut?’

  ‘It’s OK,’ Arnold replied, shrugging. ‘Although if it was longer it would hide the fact that his ears stick out so much.’

  Ash laughed and Tom clutched his chest as if he’d been shot.

  ‘My turn,’ said Tom. ‘What do you think of Ash’s T-shirt?’

  Arnold studied Ash’s top, which was covered in a bright floral print. ‘It’s pretty. It reminds me of a pair of curtains – or a tea towel.’

  Ash bowed theatrically as Tom applauded.

  ‘Listen, Arnold and I are off to the pier,’ I said. ‘Fancy coming?’

  ‘I can’t,’ Tom said. ‘I’m supposed to be helping my dad clear out the garage.’

  Ash shook his head. ‘I’ve got a tennis lesson this afternoon.’

  ‘OK,’ I said. ‘We’ll catch you later. Come on, Arnold.’

  As we crossed Chambers Park my mobile rang – it was my mum.

  ‘Leon?’ she sounded stressed.

  ‘Hi, Mum.’

  ‘Where are you?’

  ‘Just by the park – with some kids from school. Ash and Tom and that.’

  ‘I’ve just picked up a message from Dr Laughlin.’

  My therapy session – I’d forgotten all about it! I felt like a cannonball had dropped into my guts.

  ‘I was worried sick about you. You can’t imagine the scenarios going through my head.’

  ‘I totally forgot, Mum. I’m really sorry.’

  ‘I thought something terrible had happened to you.’

  ‘I’m fine, Mum. I just slept late and it slipped my mind. I’m sorry I worried you.’

  ‘Where are you going now?’

  ‘Starbucks then down to the pier for a bit.’

  ‘Well, be careful. Don’t talk to any strangers. And watch the roads. Cars drive way too fast down Carlton Hill.’

  ‘I will. See you later.’

  ‘Text me in an hour.’

  ‘OK. Bye, Mum.’

  As I ended the call we turned onto Shorecliff Drive and headed for Starbucks. We stood side by side scanning the sandwiches and muffins on display and I had this strange feeling. Something about the situation was incredibly familiar.

  ‘Lenny and I used to come here all the time,’ I said. ‘He always used to play this silly game.’ The memory washed over me like a wave – drenching me with happiness before retreating and sucking me hollow.

  ‘What game?’

  ‘You know how they ask for your name so they can call you when your order’s ready?’

  Arnold nodded.

  ‘Well, Lenny always used to give them a false name. The sillier the better.’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Just for a laugh. It’s funny when they call out your made-up name, all serious. Let’s try it.’

  ‘But what if you give them a name and someone else in the café has that name? Then the other person would collect your order.’

  ‘I think it’s pretty unlikely the real Quentin Ponsonby-Smythe-Carruthers is here, don’t you?’

  ‘Who’s Quentin Ponsonby-Smythe-Carruthers?’

  ‘That was Lenny’s favourite fake name. Well, that and Owen Ritchie.’

  ‘Why’s that funny?’

  ‘He’s a famous rugby player. Probably the star of the whole Panthers team.’

  ‘Will we see him play tomorrow?’ Arnold asked.

  I shook my head. ‘Even if we do get tickets. He injured his shoulder a couple of weeks ago. He’ll be out of action for a few months.’ I nodded towards the lady at the till. ‘Come on, let’s order.’

  Arnold chose a ham and cheese panini with a strawberry milkshake and I had a chicken wrap and a juice. A middle-aged woman took our order and my money without a smile or a ‘thank you’.

  ‘Name?’ she said to Arnold.

  Arnold looked at me and I gave him a small nod of encouragement. Then he smiled sweetly at the lady and said, ‘Owen Ritchie the famous rugby player.’

  She peered at him over her spectacles then wrote the name on the brown paper bag his panini was in.

  ‘Are you having your wrap toasted?’ she said to me wearily.

  I nodded. Smiled.

  ‘Name?’ she sighed.

  I could feel Arnold watching eagerly – waiting to hear the amusing fake name I’d come up with. The thing was I didn’t have one ready. I’d never given a false name for anything. I’d only egged on Lenny when he did it. Suddenly in the spotlight the only name that came into my head was Quentin Ponsonby-Smythe-Carruthers. But I wanted to entertain Arnold with an amusing name of my own.

  ‘My name?’ I said, stalling.

  The woman raised her eyebrows impatiently.

  You don’t realise how hard it is to make up a name on the spot until you actually have to do it. Try it for yourself. Just make up a funny random name right now. See what I mean? It’s almost impossible.

  My eyes darted about as I desperately ransacked my brain for a suitable name. I noticed some yellow goo oozing from a sandwich in the giant toaster on the counter.

  ‘Cheese,’ I blurted out at last.
Wait, was that even a name? ‘Cheeseman.’ I knew that definitely was a name – the name belonging to the kindly tramp I’d befriended and taken home for tea some months previously.

  ‘Really?’ she sneered. ‘You’re going with Cheese Cheeseman?’

  ‘No.’ I laughed awkwardly. ‘Just Cheeseman. Mr Cheeseman.’

  While we waited for our snacks to be toasted, Arnold and I sat at a nearby table. He mentioned he needed to pop to a bank to get his money for the tickets and we were just working out where the nearest one was when someone shouted, ‘Owen Ritchie!’

  A kid who was not much older than me was holding up a paper bag and looking around the café. ‘Owen Ritchie?’ he said again.

  Arnold didn’t move. Looked at the kid blankly. ‘That’s you,’ I whispered.

  ‘Oh, right.’ Arnold jumped to his feet ‘Yes. That’s me – Owen Ritchie.’

  Stepping forward he took the sandwich.

  Just as Arnold sat back down at our table, the kid called out, ‘Cheeseman? Chicken wrap for Mr Cheeseman.’

  I wanted to stand up and get my wrap straightaway because I felt sorry for the kid. But Arnold whispered to me to sit tight.

  ‘Mr Cheeseman!’ the kid called, sounding cross.

  I couldn’t bear it any more. Ignoring Arnold urging me to keep quiet, I got up to collect my wrap. I hadn’t even noticed the figure dressed in a scruffy parka coming out of the toilets.

  ‘Mr Cheeseman,’ the kid repeated.

  ‘Who’s askin’?’ said the man in the parka, squinting suspiciously at the kid.

  ‘I’ve got a chicken wrap here for Mr Cheeseman,’ the kid said, handing a paper bag to the man.

  ‘Oh right,’ the man remarked, sounding surprised. ‘That’s just the ticket. Nice one.’

  As the man left with my lunch I caught the eye of the lady at the till. She was smiling triumphantly.

  ‘That man’s stolen your lunch,’ said Arnold, getting to his feet.

  ‘I know,’ I replied. ‘Come on.’

  I followed the man outside and watched him delve into the bag and hungrily bite into my wrap.

  ‘Hello, Mr Cheeseman!’ I said.

  ‘Leon!’ The old man beamed. A piece of mayonnaisey chicken hung from his wiry beard. ‘How are you doin’, you little ratbag?’

  ‘Fine, thank you. How are you?’

  ‘Good as gold!’ he grinned, showing off a mouth of yellow, mossy teeth. ‘The weirdest thing just happened to me. I only nipped into this café to use the gents’ and on my way out that pasty little kid handed me a toasted chicken wrap with my name on it. Literally. How weird is that?’

  ‘Really weird,’ I agreed.

  ‘How’s school anyway?’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘And your family? Only this morning I was telling the boys at the bus depot about your mother’s coq au vin – it really was the business.’

  ‘I’m sorry they wouldn’t let you stay. They can be a bit precious sometimes.’

  Mr Cheeseman waved away my apology. ‘They were just thinking of your safety. To be honest, I’d have been pretty concerned if they’d let an old drunk like me stay in their house just like that. How’s life with you anyway? You here on your tod?’

  ‘I’m OK thanks, Mr Cheeseman. This is my new friend, Arnold.’

  Mr Cheeseman looked confused. ‘Is Arnold your … imaginary friend?’ he asked at last.

  ‘Of course not!’ I laughed. ‘This is Arnold.’ But as I turned to indicate who Arnold was, I realised that Arnold was nowhere to be seen. ‘Oh. Well, he was with me in Starbucks. I don’t know where he’s got to.’

  ‘It’s nothing to be ashamed of,’ Mr Cheeseman said. ‘I used to have an imaginary friend too. Big fella he was – by the name of Tiny. Mind you Tiny never left me in the lurch like this Arnold geezer. You want to pick your imaginary friends more carefully.’

  ‘I didn’t make him up,’ I laughed. ‘He was right behind me when I saw you just now. I don’t know where he is but …’

  At that moment Arnold came out of the café.

  ‘Arnold!’ I said. ‘There you are.’

  ‘I know,’ Arnold replied. ‘Here I am.’

  ‘Where have you been?’

  Arnold shrugged. ‘I was just getting a couple of napkins.’

  ‘I see,’ I said, as if some complex mystery had just been explained. ‘Mr Cheeseman was starting to think I’d imagined you.’

  Arnold glanced at Mr Cheeseman, then back to me. ‘Imagined me doing what?’

  ‘No. I mean made you up. Out of thin air.’

  ‘Like my friend Tiny,’ added Mr Cheeseman helpfully. ‘He was a giant of a kid who lived in my head when I was a boy.’

  If Arnold had been a cartoon he would have had steam pouring out of his ears at this point. ‘How did a giant kid fit inside your head?’ he asked.

  ‘Never mind all that,’ I said. ‘I want you to meet a good friend of mine. Arnold, this is Mr Cheeseman.’

  ‘All right, Arnold,’ Mr Cheeseman said.

  Arnold ignored the tramp’s outstretched hand. ‘You have chicken in your beard,’ he said.

  Mr Cheeseman picked the chicken off his beard and popped it into his mouth.

  Then Arnold wrinkled up his nose. ‘Something smells really bad out here.’

  ‘Guilty as charged,’ said Mr Cheeseman sheepishly. ‘I’m afraid the spa at the Bus Depot Shangri-La is out of action at the moment.’

  ‘Can’t you complain to the manager?’ Arnold asked, feeding a string of mozzarella into his mouth.

  Mr Cheeseman looked at me.

  ‘It’s not an actual hotel,’ I said. ‘Mr Cheeseman sleeps rough round the back of the bus depot.’

  ‘Is that why your clothes are so tatty?’

  Mr Cheeseman chuckled. ‘You don’t mince your words, do you, son?’

  Arnold shook his head. ‘Have you always been homeless?’

  Mr Cheeseman laughed a bit but then looked sad. ‘No indeed, Arnie. Do you mind if I call you Arnie?’

  ‘I prefer Arnold.’

  Mr Cheeseman smiled. ‘Well, Arnold, I used to have a house and a home and a family.’

  ‘What happened to them?’

  The tramp looked at the pavement. ‘I was a stupid old git, that’s what. I’m ashamed to admit I fell under the spell of a genie in a bottle.’

  Arnold leaned towards me and whispered, ‘What’s he talking about? There’s no such thing as genies. I think he’s crazy.’

  ‘He means alcohol,’ I whispered.

  Mr Cheeseman continued. ‘I used to be a policeman. I started drinking every day – not when I was on duty but always afterwards. I’d stop on the way home and have a few pints. Soon I’d have a few shorts too and I’d keep going when I got home. I couldn’t help myself. One night I was pulled over by my colleagues because I was driving all over the road. I lost my drivers’ licence so I lost my job. Without my job I couldn’t pay the mortgage on our house so my family lost its home. My wife went to live with her mother. She kicked me out and told me I could come back when I’d sobered up. That was five years ago.’

  ‘Leon’s family is about to break up,’ announced Arnold. ‘His parents avoid spending time together as a family. They don’t even eat together.’

  Mr Cheeseman looked horrified. ‘Is that so?’

  I nodded sadly. ‘I think they’re afraid to admit Lenny’s not around. It’s easier if they’re on the move. If we’re all spread out it’s less obvious there’s only four of us now.’

  ‘But you have to spend time together,’ Mr Cheeseman said. ‘That’s what being a family is all about.’

  ‘We’re going to get them all tickets to the rugby tomorrow,’ said Arnold.

  ‘We’re going to try,’ I added.

  ‘Do you think they’ll want to go?’ Mr Cheeseman asked.

  I shrugged. ‘We’ll have to trick them into meeting at the same place. I just hope once we’ve got them there – and have tickets – they’ll see how important
this is to me. And to all of us.’

  Mr Cheeseman squeezed my shoulder. ‘Good luck, Leon. If there’s anything I can do to help, just let me know.’

  He dug his hand deep into the pocket of his coat and produced a crumpled business card. Its edges were torn and it was stained with something unpleasant and brown but I could just about make out the faded lettering.

  HARRY CHEESEMAN

  DETECTIVE INSPECTOR

  The mobile number printed beneath his name had been scored out with biro and another number had been scrawled underneath.

  ‘If there’s anything I can do to help – just call,’ he offered. ‘If I’m not in the office, just leave a message with my assistant.’

  ‘Office?’ Arnold repeated.

  Mr Cheeseman winked. ‘There’s a payphone by the depot. If I don’t answer it, one of the other hotel residents will.’

  I was thanking the tramp for his offer when Arnold asked, ‘How are you going to help Leon’s family? You can’t even stop drinking for your own family.’

  ‘I will.’ Mr Cheeseman replied defiantly. From his pocket he produced a small glass bottle wrapped in brown paper, unscrewed the cap and took a long swig. ‘After I’ve finished this bottle.’ He smiled sadly. ‘Mind you, I’ve been saying that for five years too.’ Looking up at the clear blue sky he shook his head. ‘It’s going to be another cold one tonight, boys. I do hope the hotel maid has made up my bed with a winter duvet or I’m going to be frozen like a polar bear when the sun goes down.’

  ‘What a waste,’ I said, as I watched Mr Cheeseman weave his way down the street.

  ‘I know,’ Arnold agreed. ‘Why don’t you get another wrap? I’ll wait.’

  I turned and studied his blank face. ‘I didn’t mean it’s a waste of my wrap. Do you remember the story about him losing his job, his house and his family?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘That’s a waste.’

  ‘Oh right.’

  ‘Weird though,’ I said thoughtfully.

  ‘What is?’

  ‘I brought him home for tea a while back and my mum made him boeuf bourguignon.’

  ‘Why’s that so weird?’

  ‘He was just saying how much he enjoyed my mum’s coq au vin.’

  ‘Maybe his memory’s going?’ Arnold suggested. ‘Not surprising with all the drinking.’