by Miles Hadley
‘Did you hear?’ she responded quietly. ‘They’re in the process of acquiring one of the newspaper titles.’
‘No. Which one?’
Before Polly could answer, Henry came up to Archie and gave him a big hug.
‘Mate!’ said Archie. ‘Thanks so much for an epic exhibition party!’
‘Archie, it was of course done “with pleasure”!’
‘Oh, Cuz,’ Polly rolled her eyes at Henry. ‘When are you going to stop using that cheesy line to promote your business?’
The trio started laughing. Razza came along with Rupert and Anna, and they all offered their congratulations to Archie on what a good job he had done. They continued talking and laughing until there was that familiar sound. At first, it could only be faintly heard above the buzz of the chatter. It could be heard again, this time louder. It was the sound of somebody tinkling a silver teaspoon against a cut crystal champagne glass. Archie couldn’t tell who it was at first, as the speaker was obscured by the backs of quite a few people. He looked at Henry. Henry looked back at him equally as puzzled, shrugging his shoulders.
The people began to part, leaving the way open for Archie to see who it was. At first, Archie did not recognise him. He was attired in what looked like an expertly tailored black suit that could have been from Savile Row. He had a shaved head and could have been one of the more bohemian members of the gathering.
Then Archie realised. It was him. Gary. Archie felt like his heart had leapt into his mouth and he had to do a double take to check whether it was really him. It was. Gary exchanged the silver spoon and champagne glass for a large, brown envelope that had been placed on the corner of the nearby drinks table.
Archie wanted to say something, to do something to prevent anything from happening, but all he could do was to look at Gary in a gobsmacked way. He looked across at Polly. She looked back at him with a puzzled frown on her beautiful face.
Archie watched with growing alarm. Gary did not speak in a well-spoken way. He did not speak in a Mockney way. He spoke in a way that the majority of the assemblage would not identify with, but nevertheless they’d heard on occasion. It was the unmistakable inner city voice, the accent of London. The accent was cockney. The guests stood, mesmerised.
44
Gary looked around at all the people and felt like a fish out of water. He felt the clothes that he wore did not fit, despite them fitting perfectly. He felt uneasy and queasy. All of those eyes were looking at him. All of those posh eyes. His stomach churned. Yet, he had already done it. He had already caught everybody’s attention and he looked at the photographs with a fresh feeling of anger. They were of his people. They were a part of him and he would not let them down.
There was no way, he resolved to himself, that this Archie bloke was going to get away with perpetuating this crappy social stereotyping. He would do it not just for them, but also for old Bollard. For his memory. To hell with the fucking consequences. If it meant that he made a tit of himself, then so be it. Things needed to be said and this toffee-nosed wanker was not going to get away with this shit. He had rehearsed it again and again in his bedroom and there was no way that it was going to be wasted.
‘Good evening, ladies and gentlemen,’ he began. ‘My name is Gary Brown. The... reason why I’m speaking to you... is that I want to highlight... a few inaccuracies... to do with these photographs taken by the man over there. I didn’t know what this exhibition was going to be called. Then I found out and got really disappointed. Rather than delve deep into what is really going on in the estates of Britain, of the UK, this person – Archie Hodgkin-Smith – has done what our media and perceived establishment try to perpetuate – to keep alive a two-dimensional image rather than something that treats us like actual human beings.’
As he spoke, the guests were silent as they listened to him in astonishment.
‘This is a great pity,’ continued Gary, ‘because it would seem that Archie was presented with a great opportunity. But he chose to squander it by succumbing to the media and perceived establishment’s short-sighted immaturity and calling his exhibition “To Chav and Have Not”. Yes, I do wear sports clothes to fit in on the estate where I live. Yes, I have a cockney accent. Yes, I have a criminal background. But I regret my criminal past now, and I have more recently wished to work in a career that most people like you would see as normal.
‘Yes, that’s right – I have aspirations, like all of you here. I would like to be an accountant or lawyer, as opposed to a subject of social stereotyping and ridicule that you can have a laugh about at this exhibition. In other words, I have dreams. I dream of going to university – a good one – and of studying history.
‘History, it might surprise you – especially if you looked at that photograph of me – is actually my passion. The reason is that there was somebody on the estate who really inspired me and he was an old history teacher. To me, that man was completely and utterly nuts, but I realised something. He was not nearly as nuts as the society that we have created for ourselves here in the UK. This is a society that enjoys belittling the poor and disenfranchised until they become so demoralised that, in the end, they could not give a shit. Why? Because the way in which our society operates is a complete and utter lottery.’
Gary felt fired up suddenly, the nerves and awkwardness of earlier having vanished.
‘Some of us, like Archie here, are born with everything. They get a trust fund, inherit property, attend a top school that is bought for them and then go on to Oxbridge. A few, like Archie here, try and do “their bit”. They try and understand the problems that the society in the UK now faces. But the sad thing is, that they just buy into and get caught up in the social stereotyping that is part of our nation’s societal machine. The reason for this is that we still perpetuate something that we don’t like to talk about, or even bother to address. That something is social class, or classism. For centuries, we have had it and it is still here. Everything in our Governmental system, for example, reminds us that it is still there. If I, for example, go before a court of law, I go before a judge who represents the crown.
‘What is the crown? The crown symbolises our Government. Yet, it also symbolises something else – the top of our pyramidical social system. It is a vestige of the days of feudalism – the very extreme version of a social class system. Take my Parliamentary representative, for example. Yes, they are an MP, but they are also in the House of Commons, which is in fact inferior socially to our House of Lords. Above all that sits our monarch. If I then look at our education system, according to the Sutton Trust, it would take two thousand of our state schools to send to Oxbridge what five of the nation’s top fee-paying schools send to those two institutions. So, we need to ask ourselves – are exhibitions like this really fair? Are they fair when you consider that the odds in this country are stacked entirely against people who, through dint of birth, have to grow up in socially and economically deprived areas and probably never get the opportunity to tell their true story?’
Gary looked across the room to Archie. ‘Archie, I realise that you probably have the best of intentions – it was nice chatting to you when we had a lager together in the pub. But I want to tell you something that you have not cottoned on to in this exhibition. You and I are from completely different planets, despite being born in this supposedly United Kingdom. I don’t think it is actually your fault that you chose a short cut in portraying us. I believe it is the fault of your own lottery of birth and your upbringing and people who you probably mix with.
‘Yours is a confidence that I do not have, and that confidence for you is having solid foundations on which to build your life. I have never had that because I, like many on the estate where I grew up, felt progressively demoralised by realising what the systems and our society actually do to people like me – keep us down and never allow us to grow and flourish. And, funnily enough, when there is a liberating voice, it always c
omes from people like you – people who don’t actually know what they are talking about, because they have never even lived a life like ours.
‘Archie, I actually find your exhibition insulting for two reasons. The first is that you have given the photographs hurtful titles, and the other is that you did not even consider or bother to invite me or the other “subjects” to this exhibition – which, in itself, says a lot about the man you really are…’
Archie stepped forward. ‘Look, mate...’ he intervened. ‘You’ve got it all wrong...’
‘So,’ Gary interrupted, ‘because you took a short cut with us and were lazy in your stereotypical portrayal of us, I’m afraid that I am going to have to get my own back, mate. The way I’m going to do this is to reveal a photograph of you that I have labelled “With Pleasure” in an effort to balance things a bit.’
Gary removed from the brown envelope a photograph that Konstantine had given him. There was a large gasp from the assemblage. The image showed Archie wearing a white, winged collar shirt with white bow tie and dark blue tail coat. He was without trousers or underpants and was being cheered on by a group of similarly attired young men, including Henry. Archie was doing something lewd with a dead pig in a Hugh Despenser Society gathering.
A champagne glass could be heard crashing to the floor. Polly Raynard angrily took off her engagement ring and threw it, with force, to the floor amongst the tiny shattered fragments of the glass. Gary watched as Archie ran after her. She stormed through the crowd towards the exit, screaming angrily. Archie followed closely behind.
45
Archie ran to catch up with Polly and grabbed her arm.
‘Get off me, you bastard pig fucker!’ she screamed. ‘Get off me!’
Archie heard the guests behind them gasp in shock. ‘No, I will not!’ he said. ‘I’m not going to let you go until you listen to me. What you see in that fake photo isn’t even me, Poll – it’s the old Archie. The old cunt of a stuck-up tosser who loved to trash places with his spoilt friends. But listen, Poll…’
Archie held on to her hands to stop her from turning away.
‘The new Archie – he’s so different to what he was and it’s largely because of you. Don’t you understand, Poll? You woke me up to understand something, and that something was that, even if I had it wrong then, I haven’t got it wrong now.’
Archie turned around so that he could look at Gary. ‘Gary – you said I had it all wrong. Well, it was deliberately so. I was not just following the shit that people get, day in and day out, just because they are poor. I was deliberately doing this to laugh at the laughter of all the people assembled here. It was to make them the real exhibition.
‘Just as you have barriers, Gary – so do we! People resent us for being the “toffs” who have it all, and I completely understand that. But it’s not just about this, anymore. It’s about something worse – it’s about our United Kingdom being so far from united that it has become a people of haters, who turn on each other for whatever reason they can. When I saw the riots of 2011, I thought, “Look at those chavs and hoodies, those thugs, those plebs.” I used the language that our perceived establishment uses.
‘But, Gary and Polly, I have to thank you for something that you have both given me. It’s a fresh insight into something that I now care deeply about. It’s this – we have to unite more as a people across the classes and whatever else. If we don’t, we could have a violent revolution on our hands, and it’s up to us, the young, to prevent this from happening. We have to talk to each other – engage in dialogue, support each other. Otherwise, if we continue with all this prejudice, the weaker our society and country will be. People are going to give up on the ideals that we should all have, such as fairness in youth – and this is going to sound cheesy – but the promotion of love, as well. Our shitty infighting is going to play into the hands of the haters and enemies of our belief in a free and forward-thinking civilised society.’
Archie looked at Polly and let go of her hands. ‘So, Poll – you are welcome now to walk away from me. But I want you to know this – you will be walking away because of the old Archie. Yet, you will be leaving a new Archie standing proud and tall in a way that he has never done before. Why? Because the new me has finally got around to realising that our country is under threat. And, darling Poll, even if you walk away, I will still be in love with you.
‘And Gary – you rightly say that we are from two different planets. I agree, we are. But you have to understand that I had prepared a speech myself, which is in my pocket. That speech pretty much says what I have just said. So, Gary, you and I are united in one thing – we both love our country, but we both hate its dysfunctional society and we want change. I’m proud of you, Gary, because, apart from the shitty fake photo here, you have done the job that I would have done, anyway.’
Polly looked into Archie’s eyes. ‘Do you mean all of this? Sincerely? Show me the speech.’
‘Gladly, Poll...’ said Archie. He began looking in his jacket pockets. He frowned. ‘Urm... oh shit... I’ve...forgotten it.’
Polly looked at Archie and started to laugh. She turned to Gary and to the assemblage. Then with biting sarcasm, she yelled at Archie.
‘Oh, you’ve forgotten it, have you?’
‘Urm... yes, Poll... I have.’
‘I don’t fucking believe you!’
‘Poll... please... listen.’
‘When we were on Kilimanjaro, you specifically told me that you had not... had not...’ Her voice began to break. ‘Fucked a pig.’ And yet, and yet... this photo clearly shows that you have.’
‘It’s been Photoshopped, Poll,’ said Archie.
He looked at Gary desperately, who appeared to be smirking. ‘He’s gone and faked it!’
‘And what does Henry think?’ Polly asked, turning to Henry.
Henry looked crestfallen and mumbled incoherently before suddenly blushing.
Archie then watched Konstantine step forward from the gobsmacked crowd. ‘Polly, I can assure you that it wasn’t faked. I have a certificate here proving its authenticity.’
There was a loud gasp from the crowd.
‘You!’ Archie screamed, grabbing Konstantine and wrestling him to the floor. ‘You bastard Russian pleb!’ he yelled.
The guests gave another astonished collective gasp.
Gary laughed out loud at the ensuing chaos before leaving.
Epilogue
Gary continued to commit himself to a regime of rigorous self study. He sat an A-level exam in History at Parkingfield Comprehensive School and received an A grade. He extended his self-study to Economics and Politics. He received an A in Politics and a B in Economics.
Gary applied to the University of York to read History. This was where Bollard had studied and it still had a reputable History department.
When the acceptance letter finally arrived, Sheila screamed with delight. Jamal, who had now more or less moved in and slept on the couch, and studied with Gary, shook his hand.
‘Well done, mate,’ he said. ‘That Bollard bloke would be proud.’
‘And Mum,’ Sheila said, wiping a tear from her eye. ‘I’m going to miss you, though. Mum would say remember to keep your glass half full. I bloody love you, Gary. You are the best brother I could ever wish for – I mean it.’
***
A year later, Gary Brown wrote the following entry in a journal:
* * *
I am near the end of my first year at the University of York and things are going really well. I have a girlfriend called Amanda who I love. Last weekend, she gave me a present – a surprise trip to Paris. We saw the Louvre, Notre Dame Cathedral and many other places. We sat in Parisienne cafés and discussed the Brexit situation in the UK. Amanda and I are convinced that social disparity was a major contributing factor to the referendum outcome. Amanda has gorgeous eyes – she could be a model �
� and has the most dynamic and engaging personality. She is a bit posh, but she likes me for me. We visited Sheila recently. She’s much better with Jamal helping her and there is good news: Warren is back!
Jamal has also got into a university. He is going to study human rights law. He is determined to become a lawyer and fight any form of institutional discrimination he comes across. He is quite the righteous bastard now and I can see him becoming very successful in what he does.
So things have turned out all right and I look back with fondness at everything old Bollard gave me – education, respect and dignity.
* * *
