Toff Chav

by Miles Hadley

  ‘Come here, Gary Brown,’ Sharon said. ‘Give us a cuddle. I’ll talk to Tone and see if there’s anything available, all right?’

  Gary finished his cup of tea and got up off the couch. He smiled at Sharon. She gave him a wink.

  ‘If there’s any more trouble with Callum,’ Gary said, ‘you tell me, all right? I’m getting fucked off with those Death Squad fuckers.’

  Sharon smiled sadly and nodded before he left.

  9

  ‘Your father sounds a bit old school,’ Polly said.

  ‘Hardly, Poll. He just had to step in line with Grandpapa, that’s all. Otherwise, the trust would have disinherited him.’

  Polly laughed and gave her snort. ‘Sounds just like my parents, but without the disinheritance threats. Plus, they never quite reformed themselves from their Ibiza days. They’re still at it and are pretty unashamed about it. It makes for an interesting family!’

  Archie found himself being slightly envious of what Polly had just said. He so dearly wished that his parents had been able to continue to host interesting parties, rather than having to vet everybody and their background before they could enter the sanctity of Risely’s dining room. Henry’s family was a bit like Archie’s, and so Archie found it curious that Henry should be related to the Raynards and yet come from a branch so unlike them.

  Towards the end of their nightly chat, Polly invited Archie to Cambridge to a concert, which was to be given by a friend of hers and who was a baritone singer.

  Four days later, Archie drove the Range Rover over to Cambridge. They met in a small, cosy pub and drank wine together. Archie said that he had better not have too much because he would be driving back.

  ‘You’ll have to drive back in the morning then, won’t you?’ said Polly casually.

  ‘But where will I stay?’ he asked in feigned innocence.

  ‘Mine, silly,’ came the reply. Polly laughed and gave her snort.

  They made their way to the little church where Polly’s friend was to give the concert. He was a somewhat large and portly man, by the name of George Fellowes. He was attired very smartly in black tails, white shirt and bow tie. It contrasted sharply with Archie’s jeans, brogues, shirt and jumper. Polly introduced them to each other.

  Archie took an instant liking to George. He had never met a baritone singer before. Polly explained that they were both in the same politics tutorials.

  Archie noticed that the church was a simple little place and not especially old. It had probably been constructed in the 1700s and comprised an organ and pews, as well as whitewashed walls. It was beautiful in a simple sort of way, he decided. No over-the-top rococo or gothic fantasy here.

  Archie watched and listened to the small chamber orchestra, assembled behind where George would stand. The musicians were currently winding up their bows or tuning their instruments in discordant drones. There was also a grand piano.

  A university Don welcomed everybody and then introduced the concert. The audience chatter died down as he spoke.

  ‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to St Matthew’s church on this most beautiful summer’s evening. This is a free concert, although I would ask you all to donate during the interval to a charity that is very dear to the singer’s heart – Shelter. Now, I would like you to all give a warm welcome to Mr George Fellowes.’

  Archie joined in with the audience applause. The pianist accompanied George as he began to sing the introductory song. It was Ralph Vaughan Williams’ ‘The Vagabond’.

  Archie looked at Polly and smiled. He thought that the song was very serious and that the pianist seemed to emphasise the strong strides of the vagabond as he walked. George sang with great energy and gusto. His words reverberated around the little church. It was a remarkable song to begin with and Archie thoroughly enjoyed its drama.

  ‘I told you he was good!’ Polly whispered to him. They held hands.

  The next piece of music contrasted greatly with ‘The Vagabond’. It was Ruggerio’s aria ‘Verdi Prati’, from Handel’s Alcina. It was again sung very well and, this time, the chamber orchestra accompanied George. His deep voice soared up to the rafters of the church. Archie thought that the perfect Italian words seemed so gentle and harmless in contrast to the rough plodding of ‘The Vagabond’.

  The third piece was by Bach. It was ‘Mache dich, mein Herze, rein’ from St Matthew’s Passion and was sung in flawless German. Finally, the piano accompanied George again and he sang Handel’s ‘Silent worship’ as a sort of finale. Archie thought that this piece suited the summer evening well and was a perfect way to end. He turned to Polly, their hands clasped, and their eyes met for a few seconds before they smiled.

  Archie joined in the rapturous applause for George. He noticed that, to the rear of the church, stood a row of George’s closest friends, who were especially enthusiastic and shouted ‘Bravo!’ and ‘Encore!’ One or two even whistled and stamped their feet.

  Archie took some snaps of the scenes with his camera. He snapped a shot of George bowing and gesturing to members of the little orchestra to get up and take a bow, too. The encore was again shouted for, and Archie watched as George finally relented. He sang ‘Mache dich, mein Herz, rein’ once more and sang another Vaughan Williams piece, ‘Wither must I wander’.

  After the concert, Archie observed George’s friends thronging around him and patting him on the back saying ‘Well done’. Polly found a gap in the throng while still holding Archie’s hand and edged near him.

  ‘George, you were marvellous. Well done!’ she said. Archie agreed and shook George’s hand again.

  After a few minutes, Polly told Archie that they ought to go, for she wanted them to go punting up the river Cam. They went hand in hand via a wine shop and bought a bottle of red. They then went to a supermarket and got some food from the deli section, including some onion bhajis and samosas, to make a picnic.

  They made their way to the riverbank, where they hired a punt. Archie deliberately kept rocking the boat, causing Polly to scream and laugh with her endearing snort. He laughed too and imitated her snort. She laughed and snorted even more. They found a nice meadow under some willow trees and lay on a tartan blanket. They drank the wine and talked and kissed and ate their simple supper. Every now and then, Archie took out his camera and took what he thought were the most delightful shots of his dear Poll. She was wearing the loveliest clothes and, as the sun set, he noticed a gorgeous haze that created a light and an added air of beauty to her frame.

  Fucking delightful, that’s what she is. My dear, sweet Poll, Archie thought as he took more photographs.

  As Archie and Polly made love that night, the bed squeaked and rocked and banged in varying degrees of intensity before they both climaxed together in what felt like an earth-shattering orgasm. A loud male yell. A loud female scream. It was the early hours when the bed headboard finally stood at ease. Silence. Spent. Gradually, slower breaths. Rest. And then their sleep-entangled bodies and minds were absorbed in their real dreams and dreamy reality – love, love, love. Their young and passionate hearts beat it out together.

  10

  He had tried everything that he could to get a job. To join the system. To get off benefits. He had tried interview after interview and failed and failed to get any position. Was it the way he looked? Was it the way he spoke? Was it his criminal past? What the fuck was it?

  Gary queued up at the Jobcentre. Around him were tired-looking people. Beat-up, grey faces. Some smoked. Others talked. Shoulders hunched, hands in pockets. Foreign languages mixed in with English.

  Once inside, it was obvious to Gary that the administrator was not impressed with what he saw. Gary sat down on the stained and worn institutional office chair. He noticed that the administrator’s face was dull looking. He looked bored. Not very interested.

  ‘What can I do for you today?’ the administrator aske
d in a grey-toned monotone.

  ‘I’d like to collect my benefits,’ replied Gary.

  ‘Are you actively seeking employment?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How many jobs have you applied for?’

  ‘A few, but nobody wants to employ me.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  ‘Cos I got shit grades at school. And once I go for an interview, they think I’m shit.’

  ‘There are some training options available. Are you aware of these?’

  ‘What sort of training options?’

  ‘Apprenticeships or college.’

  ‘So that I can do a job that the meatheads do?’

  ‘No. That’s not what I’m saying.’ The administrator looked straight at Gary. ‘I’m trying to explain that some of the apprenticeships might be a good option. Look, there are some going with a plumbing firm. There’s a big demand for plumbers in London. Did you know?’

  ‘What’s the pay like for an apprenticeship?’ asked Gary.

  ‘Probably minimum wage, but they’ll pay for training for a few years to get you started.’

  ‘That sounds shit!’

  ‘Why does it sound shit?’

  ‘Because it’s probably less than I’ll get on job seeker’s allowance, plus I don’t want to be somebody who shovels other people’s shit around.’

  ‘It might be a good option for you.’

  ‘What? Shovelling shit around? Sorry mate, but I’d have to be off my nut.’

  The administrator paused for a moment, suppressing a sigh of frustration.

  ‘Well. What would you like to be then?’

  ‘An accountant, lawyer,’ replied Gary. ‘Something like that.’

  ‘There would be some options available for you to do this.’

  ‘What? By going back to school? Then pay massive university fees and getting in debt before I’ve even started?’

  ‘Well... there is that side to it. But there are grants available.’

  ‘But then you’d probably take away my other benefits, wouldn’t you?’ Gary was angry by now and had had enough of the interview.

  ‘Well...’ began the administrator, but was interrupted.

  ‘Plus, what kind of accountancy or law firm is going to employ me? I haven’t gone to a public school. They’ll take one look at me and run a mile!’

  ‘There are plenty of people who have gone to a state school and who have gone on to become quite successful as lawyers and accountants.’

  ‘Yeah, the token few!’

  ‘Now, that’s not quite true…’ Gary heard the interviewer drag out the final word. ‘I have a couple of friends who went to state school and one is now a solicitor – works in conveyancing – and the other is an accountant who works for HMRC.’

  ‘Great,’ said Gary sarcastically. ‘Ring your friends up and get them to give me a job.’

  Gary watched the interviewer go silent for a moment.

  ‘I don’t think it’s quite as simple as that…’ he said, laughing.

  ‘You know what then, mate...’ said Gary calmly. ‘I think you should just give me my fucking benefits then.’

  ‘Well, we do need evidence that you are actively seeking work.’

  ‘I’m on the universal job seeker’s system, aren’t I?’

  ‘Well, yes, but you’re meant to apply for the jobs as well.’

  ‘I have applied for the jobs! If you look at the fucking system, you will find that all of my applications have been rejected.’

  ‘Well, we do have career coaches who can help with your CV if you’re having trouble,’ said the interviewer. ‘It does say on the system that you have got three GCSEs.’

  Gary laughed sardonically. ‘Oh, my fucking word... well, that’s all right then, isn’t it? Hooray for fucking that! I got three GCSEs and that makes me capable of just walking into any fucking job I want, does it?’

  ‘I’m not saying it’s easy,’ said the interviewer, ‘but there are jobs out there. You might not like them. Office cleaning, for example.’

  ‘And you think that any office is going to let me clean their shit with a criminal record as long as my arm, do you?’

  ‘Oh... I didn’t realise you had a criminal record,’ said the interviewer, looking down at his notes. ‘That does make things more difficult… But there are employers out there who might give you a chance.’

  Gary glared at the administrator. He hated him so much now. Him. With his smug accountant and lawyer friends. No doubt they had grown up in cosy suburban neighbourhoods and now had cushy salaries. He tried to conjure up an image of them in his head. They were drinking real ale in a suitably hip gastro pub in a suitably gentrified yuppy area. He wanted to smash their faces in. He wanted to smash the administrator’s face in for even mentioning them. He imagined them dating women like Paulette or Rose.

  There was a brief, tense silence before the administrator gave in and handed Gary the forms to collect his benefits.

  ‘Hooray for fucking that!’ Gary exclaimed in exasperation. ‘It doesn’t take rocket science to work out I need them, does it?’

  11

  ‘Champers, bow ties, elegance, beauty! All of the glory that is England! The best of the best away from the rest! Hideous in their privilege! Standards, standards they cry! And such standards! Flying the flag for their families! They – the flagships of the fleet! And Poll – there she is! The exact opposite of any battleship! Her sleek, elegant self attracting many a roving eye! And I. And I shall love her ’til I die!’

  Archie was always excited about going to parties, especially when it was a good old twenty-first. This particular party was to be held at another of Polly and Razza’s cousins, in Suffolk. Archie was extremely pleased to have been invited by Polly. He was impressed by the house, which was a grand but comfortable Georgian affair surrounded by parkland that was much neater than Risely. In the immediate gardens, there were topiaried hedges and, on the terraced lawn, stood a huge marquee.

  Polly told Archie that the cousin who had come of age was called Rupert Shoddley and that he was related to Polly and Razza through their mother’s sister. She had married an old Meltonian, Charles Shoddley, who had been in a highly successful insurance syndicate. They had four children and Rupert was the youngest.

  Archie was very chuffed because he had been asked by Rupert if he would take some photographs for the event. As the guests arrived, whether in pairs or groups, Archie encouraged them to pose in different semi-comical ways to make the pictures more amusing and memorable. Another professional photographer had been hired from one of the glossy magazines, giving Archie and Polly more freedom at the party.

  Polly gave Archie a rundown on her cousin. He had attended Lapham Abbey School and was now reading History and Politics at Durham. His ambition was to become a Conservative Member of Parliament, and he had already secured himself a position upon graduation as a constituency assistant in one of the safer shire seats.

  Rupert was an ardent Cameronite and believed passionately in the ‘Big Society’. Polly explained to Archie that she had had quite a few heated exchanges with Rupert because he felt that ‘Cameronite Toryism’ was the only way out of the present mire that the UK had found itself. She told Archie that they had nearly fallen out when Polly had expressed her view that the ‘Big Society’ was merely a gimmick; that she was not a supporter of what she deemed to be the ‘Bullingdon Triumvirate’. This did not surprise Archie, considering the Raynards’ radical tendencies.

  ‘What do you think to Cameron?’ she asked Archie after he had taken a lot of photographs.

  Archie repeated what he had heard time and time again in his circles. ‘I think he’s a bloody good bloke.’

  ‘But don’t you think it’s odd, and alarmingly elitist, to see three members of the same drinking club at Oxford having key positions in power?’r />
  ‘Well, they were elected, Polly.’

  ‘I think it’s a sad state of affairs when the electorate has to take us back to the 1950s.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘You know what I mean! The so-called “old guard”.’

  ‘But Poll, we’re not a bunch of commies, are we?’

  Polly laughed and gave her snort. ‘No, Archie. We are not a bunch of commies.’

  Archie’s attention was drawn briefly to Rupert’s stunner of a girlfriend called Anna, who, like Polly, attracted admiring glances wherever she went. Polly told Archie that Anna was studying Equine Studies at a local agricultural college and was very horsey.

  ‘...you know, polo, hunts and all that sort of stuff,’ she muttered. ‘I actually think she’s an odd match for Rupert. He’s so political and she’s so... active in different areas.’

  The guests had been told by the Shoddleys to bring their own tents so that they could camp in one of the paddocks, where portaloos would be provided. Polly explained that, usually, the parties were held in the main house.

  ‘Unfortunately, at Rupert’s eighteenth,’ she said, ‘a Ming dynasty vase somehow crashed onto the floor, causing great upset in the family.’ She went on to explain that the vase had been brought back by a Shoddley ancestor during the opium wars. It was, according to Polly, ‘a subject to be carefully avoided with Mr Shoddley’.

  ‘Bit like Hen and the Gainsborough,’ Archie muttered to himself.

  Archie was informed that one hundred and twenty-three guests had RSVP’d. He observed Rupert being presented with a new shotgun by his parents.

  Rupert jokingly said, ‘Now I know what to do when I see a chav or a gypo in the vicinity!’

  Everybody found this frightfully funny, including Archie. He observed that one or two of the other braying laughs lasted well into the next speech given by Mr Shoddley.

  ‘Now, I thought I’d do it a bit different for this one,’ he began. ‘So I’ve written a bit of a ditty for Rupert. It goes as follows…’