Toff Chav

by Miles Hadley

  Gary noticed that Archie’s attention was suddenly drawn to Donna and Shelly, who he had briefly gone to school with. They were both pushing prams with sleeping babies in them.

  ‘All right, Gaz?’ they smiled as they passed.

  Gary noticed Archie’s eyes widen. ‘Do you think you...’ Archie began to ask him.

  Kevin rolled his eyes.

  ‘All right,’ Gary replied. ‘Oi, girls!’ He gestured to them to come over. ‘You wouldn’t mind if this geezer took some photographs of you, would you? He’s doing an exhibition highlighting the lack of opportunities for inner city people.’

  ‘Sure, Gaz,’ Donna replied, turning her pram. ‘How’s your sister? She all right? Haven’t seen her in ages.’

  ‘Yeah, she’s all right,’ replied Gary. ‘You ought to pop around some time.’

  Gary watched as Archie took photo after photo of them as they talked. Archie asked the girls if either of them smoked. Donna and Shelly looked at Gary, puzzled.

  ‘Why does he want to know if we smoke?’ asked Shelly.

  Gary looked at Archie.

  ‘I was just asking,’ Archie said defensively.

  ‘Well, as it happens, I do,’ Donna replied, pulling out a packet and lighting up a cigarette. ‘Do you want one, Gary?’

  Gary smiled and took one. ‘Yeah, I’ve been dying for a cigarette for ages.’

  Donna passed him her lighter and he lit his cigarette, inhaling with relief.

  ‘Sad about Warren,’ Donna said before inhaling from her own cigarette.

  ‘Yeah,’ Gary responded sadly.

  ‘It’s not fucking right, Gaz,’ said Donna. ‘They cut everything and expect us to work miracles. How’s Sheila bearing up?’

  ‘She’s all right. We’ll get him back.’

  ‘I hope so, Gaz. I really do. Come here, Gary Brown, and give us a quick cuddle.’ Arms outstretched, Donna gave Gary a hug.

  Donna and Shelly eventually left and Archie looked around him. ‘Where next?’

  Gary looked at him with a thoughtful frown. ‘Could go down the field next, I suppose.’

  Once there, Gary watched as Archie took photographs of Callum and some friends playing football with a partially deflated ball.

  ‘Perfect….’ Archie could be heard muttering to himself as he zoomed in.

  A man with a baseball cap walked past with a pit bull terrier on a lead. Gary watched as Archie took some photographs of him as well.

  Gary wondered what Archie thought of it all; all this shit. He was desperate to talk to somebody about history, and suddenly missed old Bollard all the more.

  Funny, that, Gary thought to himself. He would never have expected an old geezer like Bollard, least of all a nut job, and him to have been good friends, but he supposed that they had been. It must have looked especially odd to Deano and the others. That’s a strange thing about the UK, Gary thought. The people are farmed away from each other, whether it’s according to age or socioeconomic background. Farming – that’s what it is. When you are old, you get shut away until eventually you end up in an old people’s home.

  He suddenly needed to talk to somebody about it, but thought Archie would not be interested. He seemed too caught up in his photography, a bit like Gary being caught up in his history books.

  He decided to chat to Kevin. ‘So, where are you from, then?’

  ‘Leytonstone.’

  ‘Not too far, then.’

  ‘No.’

  And that was it for Gary. No interesting facts, no eloquent speeches. Have I become a snob? he thought to himself. Have history and Bollard turned me into a snob? Impossible! He smiled to himself. He then frowned seriously and thought about it some more as he watched Archie take photographs of the environs; Gary’s environs. He so wanted to talk to Archie; and yet, curiously, a large part of him didn’t want to.

  41

  Archie had so much material now to work on. He couldn’t get over how successful his photographs were going to look in his exhibition. In his office, he showed Polly his favourite photographs that he had narrowed down from over a hundred.

  ‘Gosh, these are amazing!’ she exclaimed. ‘Archie, you’re such a genius! I like this one... very chavvy!’ She pointed to a photograph.

  ‘That’s the guy called Gary. Sitting there munching away on a burger. Doesn’t he look pissed about life? It’s so awful!’

  ‘Yes,’ replied Polly seriously. ‘The picture makes me feel really sorry for him.’

  Archie attempted to imitate Gary’s cockney accent.

  Polly started laughing and gave her snort. ‘He’s actually quite attractive...’

  ‘Polly…’ Archie said, as if he was warning Bella or Smidgeon.

  ‘Oh, grow up, Arch. I was joking... as if I’d go for a chav!’ Polly laughed again, kissing him on the cheek, before snorting slightly.

  ‘Never know,’ said Archie. ‘Maybe you like a bit of rough.’

  ‘Oh, Arch! I have only eyes for you and you know it! I like my men clean, suave, sophisticated and educated, like you.’

  ‘Hmm... sometimes I wonder, though,’ said Archie. ‘Poll... on a serious note, this experience is really opening up my eyes about the extent of social disparity in the UK. It’s just so damned awful. Uncivilised. We seem to be breeding poverty again.’

  ‘I’m so glad,’ said Polly. ‘I knew that my boyfriend deep down had a heart somewhere. Things need to change. We cannot go on like this in the UK. It is turning into a dump.’

  ‘Another thing I wanted to say is this...’ said Archie. ‘I would never have had the idea for this project if you had not opened up my eyes and changed my perspective on things. I still think of Jack, for example, and marvel that he is actually an ex-serviceman. I also need to say that even Cameronites can care, Poll. Look at what the PM said about “Hugging a hoodie”. It completely makes sense.’

  Suddenly Archie looked at his watch. ‘Shit. I have to meet Gary to pay him. Darling Poll, got to go. When I’m back, we’ll have a bottle of bolly to celebrate.’

  ***

  They met outside the White Elephant pub in Putney.

  ‘Hi,’ Archie smiled in an as natural way as possible.

  ‘Hi,’ Gary responded awkwardly.

  ‘Look... do you want to go inside?’ asked Archie. ‘We can have a pint.’

  ‘Sure.’

  Gary asked for a lager. Archie didn’t usually drink lager, but decided to have one as well so that he did not make Gary feel alienated.

  ‘Cheers,’ he said and smiled.

  There was an awkward silence.

  ‘So why photography?’ Gary asked.

  ‘You know what, mate... that’s a bloody good question,’ Archie laughed. ‘I don’t know...’ He sipped his lager. ‘Something about the female form – I had a huge desire to capture it for posterity. Plus, I wanted to mix with shit-hot models!’ They laughed.

  ‘I study history,’ Gary said.

  ‘Really?’ Archie said, surprised. ‘Where at?’

  ‘Nowhere yet. A friend... he was a retired teacher... started teaching me.’

  ‘Oh, right.’

  ‘Where did you study?’

  ‘Me? Melton and Oxford.’

  ‘Posh fucker,’ Gary laughed.

  Archie laughed as well.

  ‘Why did you want to photograph us... people on the estates?’ asked Gary.

  ‘That’s a difficult one,’ replied Archie. ‘I just wanted to help, I guess.’

  ‘Help what?’

  ‘Get the message across.’

  ‘What message?’

  ‘Do you know what, mate? I’ve yet to decide.’

  There was another silence. Archie eventually brought out a small brown envelope. He gave it to Gary. ‘Here’s the money.’

  Gary opened the enve
lope, counted the notes and smiled. ‘Thanks.’

  42

  Gary was walking along Bevan Road. He saw a black Mercedes with blacked-out windows pull up near him. Once it was parked, a burly skin-headed man with an earpiece got out and paced towards him.

  ‘My boss wants to have a word,’ he said. ‘Would you please step inside the vehicle. He is waiting.’

  Instinctively defensive, Gary wondered who it could be. He wondered if it was a representative of the Pan London gang and a brief chill went up his spine. He wanted to run, but the man grabbed his arm with great strength. Gary reluctantly stepped into the vehicle.

  Inside was a man who was about Gary’s age and very well spoken. His accent sounded like Archie’s.

  ‘Good afternoon, Gary. We have been watching your movements with interest.’

  ‘What fucking movements?’

  ‘You’ve been showing a certain Archie Hodgkin-Smith around your parts, haven’t you? So that he can photograph poor people in your area.’

  ‘What’s it to you if I have?’

  ‘It’s a lot to me,’ said the man. ‘For no reason at all, other than my lineage happening to be Russian and my girlfriend from Essex. Mr Hodgkin-Smith Esquire of the Risely Estate in the shire and Chelsea, London, has behaved like an absolute philistine. I want revenge, sweet revenge, and I want to ruin his reputation, just as he has tried to ruin mine and my girlfriend’s ambitions in London society.’

  ‘And what do you want me to do about it?’

  Konstantine chuckled to himself. ‘You do know the real reason why he is photographing... your people... don’t you?’

  Gary looked puzzled and frowned before shaking his head.

  ‘Oh, you poor bloke. You are more simple than I suspected. Archie’s not doing this to help your kind. He’s not doing it out of, shall we say, “noblesse oblige”. He’s just doing what everyone else does – laughing at you and your people. I mean... has he even shown you the promotional material? Take a look at this...’

  Gary looked at the invitation. It angered him so much. It hurt him so much.

  ‘You fucking toffee-nosed cunt!’ he yelled, as he looked at the image.

  ‘Now, now,’ Konstantine said. ‘I’d save up all of your anger and rage for the exhibition. It appears that my people have somehow managed to wrangle you an invitation as well. You are my guest of honour.’

  Gary looked puzzled. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

  Konstantine chuckled again. ‘That’s what my people have, shall we say, concocted anyway. Don’t worry about your clothes and things – my people will sort that out so that you will fit in just right.’

  Gary stared at him, not knowing what to say.

  ‘Oh, and one more thing…’ Konstantine reached into his inside pocket and produced a brown envelope and gave it to Gary. Gary opened the envelope and looked at what was inside. His face broke into a broad smile. It was the funniest thing he had seen in a long time and he chuckled.

  ‘Here’s my card,’ Konstantine said. ‘Anything you need, contact me. I fully expect to see you on the big night. And... one more thing... keep this hush, hush between friends, okay?’ He tapped the interior of the window and the bodyguard opened the door for Gary to exit.

  ‘You are dead meat, Archie Hodgkin-Smith,’ Gary chuckled bitterly to himself. ‘Dead meat.’

  ***

  That evening, Jamal came over for dinner. Gary and Sheila had cooked it together. Gary thought Jamal seemed slightly better, but he was still overcome with grief. They ate corned beef with cabbage, broccoli and potatoes. Gary looked at Jamal.

  ‘How’s it going, mate?’ he asked.

  ‘Dunno,’ said Jamal. ‘Not sure about the funeral. Who to invite – that sort of thing. Can’t really afford much.’

  ‘I can help,’ Gary said.

  ‘What, with the funeral?’

  ‘Yeah. We’ll help, won’t we, Sis?’

  Sheila nodded her head in agreement. Gary listened to his sister speak to Jamal in a way that he had not heard before.

  ‘When our mum died,’ Sheila began, ‘some people came from the estate, but after the funeral people left us well alone. They thought we could cope on our own. But the thing is, Jamal, when someone that close to you dies, the worst situation to be in is to be alone. So don’t be too proud, Jamal, and not seek help from your friends. Gary just said we want to help you and that’s because we mean it, don’t we, Gaz?’

  Gary smiled at his sister with pride. ‘Yeah. You and I, Jamal, go back a long way. We’ve got to get sorted somehow and the best way is for us to look out for one another. Things have broken down. The systems don’t work for us, so we’ve got to work out our own systems together, to get where we want to go. If there is hope, it lies in the proles.’

  ‘What do you mean, “if there is hope it lies in the proles”, Gaz?’ Sheila asked puzzled.

  ‘George Orwell wrote that in his book, 1984,’ explained Gary. ‘The proles in his book – they’re like us – were kept down and subjugated by a cruel elite. Yet, there is one thing that we have for ourselves and each other... that something is hope. We can only keep that hope alive by strengthening ourselves through learning more stuff – how to get ahead. The thing that’s helping me at the moment is learning history. Our country now is a fucking disgrace the way it keeps people like us down from achieving stuff. We have to learn and arm ourselves with knowledge in order to liberate ourselves. If you want, Jamal, you can borrow my history books. It will give you something to do.’

  ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake, Gary,’ Sheila laughed. ‘He’s just lost his mum, the last thing he fucking wants is to read your history books! What’s gotten into you lately, Gaz? You’re like Mr History or something. Always coming up with these clever quotes and stuff.’

  ‘I just like it, that’s all,’ said Gary. ‘That Bollard geezer... he was a fucking mind blower!’

  ‘I wish I’d have known him,’ Jamal said wistfully.

  ‘Yeah,’ Sheila laughed. ‘He’s starting to make me wish I had an’ all!’

  Sheila was interrupted by a knock on the door. Gary answered it. It was a delivery for him; a large parcel. He signed for it and, as he did so, Sheila came and asked him what it was.

  ‘Oh, this and that,’ Gary replied mysteriously.

  Sheila looked at him with a smile and a glint in her eye. ‘Gary Brown, what are you up to?’

  43

  Archie was most excited at being in the limelight again. All of the society journalists appeared to be there, quaffing the best champagnes offered by attendant staff who had been provided by Henry’s ‘With Pleasure’. They huddled around Archie, asking various questions as to why he chose to photograph chavs and hoodies.

  ‘Well,’ Archie began, ‘clearly, Britain is at the height of some sort of social malaise and I wanted to highlight the inner poverty of our urban underclasses. It is a problem that, one might argue, has been exacerbated by uncontrolled immigration, creating a fresh feeling of seemingly dispossessed types. I decided to focus on so-called chavs and hoodies in order to highlight their plight and raise awareness to the wider public of why these people feel... much maligned by the rest of society.’

  Archie noticed Polly look at him with pride as he spoke and briefly looked proudly back at her. She, too, was quaffing champagne with Izzy alongside her. Henry stood slightly behind them and also seemed to be beaming with pride. Handsome and beautiful waiters and waitresses provided by Henry’s firm were offering people canapés, as well as more champagne. Jake Coxwell and Cressilla Fraser-Bing were in attendance, as was Razza, and even Piers and Lavinia Raynard. Rupert and Anna were also there with some Tory party colleagues of Rupert. Even Konstantine was there, but he had a strange mysterious look on his face, which Archie briefly caught.

  Archie had spent a great deal of time directing the gallery assistants as to which
photograph should go where in the exclusive Bigby Gallery in Mayfair. The large, black and white photographs were finally on display. The exhibition was entitled ‘To Chav and Have Not’. Archie had taken a long time to come up with the title and he noticed that many of the guests found it frightfully amusing, and he smiled to himself about it.

  One photograph showed single mums in puffa jackets with babies in prams, chatting and smoking over their offspring, beneath grim, grey and dismal concrete overpasses. The photograph was entitled ‘Puffa goes their health’. Another was entitled ‘Chavving a good time’ and it showed some youths in baseball caps, who were playing with a half-inflated football on a litter-strewn piece of wasteland. Another showed a white police officer doing a stop and search on a black youth. It was entitled simply ‘Black and White’. Another showed the man walking his pit bull terrier and it was entitled ‘Dog eat dog world’. In total, there were about fifteen such photographs, all blown up and without frames.

  Archie explained to one journalist that his biggest inspiration had, without a doubt, been when he’d watched a fly-on-the-wall documentary about benefit seekers in inner city London.

  ‘I just realised that I had to do something about this... this problem... blighting our society...’ he said. ‘This abject poverty.’ He looked the journalist straight in the eye with great gravity.

  Archie noticed Konstantine approach him and shook him by the hand.

  ‘Archie...’ said Konstantine. ‘I never realised that poverty was so acute in Britain. Thank you so much. It’s really opened my eyes. Here we are, in our privileged worlds, oblivious to the plight of people like these... chavs and hoodies. It just makes me realise how fortunate we actually are and how important it is not to take our positions in society for granted. We are so lucky.’

  Archie nodded his thanks to Konstantine and proceeded to make a beeline for his dear, sweet Poll. He gave her a peck on the cheek. Polly smiled at him.

  ‘Hello, Mister,’ she said. ‘I think it’s going rather well... don’t you?’

  Archie agreed and gave her another peck on the cheek. ‘I just had the biggest suck up from Konstantine again,’ he whispered in Polly’s ear. ‘The poor chap gives me the creeps.’