The Fib, The Swap, The Trick and Other Stories

by George Layton

  ‘A teddy boy – that’s how you’ll end up. It’ll be velvet collars and long jackets next. Then those thick crêpe shoes, I know.’

  Blimey! Just because one of my mates had ended up in a teddy boy gang. I had teddy boys morning, noon and night. Just watch, any second now and she’ll come out with her borstal line.

  ‘You’ll end up in borstal, that’s what’ll happen to you.’

  Told you.

  ‘Don’t be daft, Mum!’

  ‘Don’t you talk to me like that. You’re still not too old for a quick slap.’

  So, that’s how it was. Sixteen-inch bottoms was the best I could do. But I knew there’d be more trouble when I brought the trousers home, and there were no turn-ups. I was right.

  ‘But they’re not finished. Where are the turnups?’

  ‘There are no turn-ups.’

  ‘I can see that. Where are they?’

  ‘Turn-ups are out. They’re old fashioned. This is the new style.’

  Seeing as I’d bought the trousers out of my own money that I’d saved from my newspaper round, there wasn’t much my mum could do about it.

  ‘Well, you big jessie.’

  And that was all she said.

  But still, they did look great. I tilted the mirror forward a bit more, so that I could see how the tapered bottoms rested on my shoes. Terrific!

  I was beginning to feel a bit nervous. This was the first date I’d ever had. The first proper date. Well, actually, it was a foursome. Barry had arranged it. He’d been on a couple of dates before, so he was quite experienced. We’d met these two girls at our school intersocial, we had one every Christmas with the girls’ school near by. It’s the big event of the year, because it’s the only time our school has anything to do with the girls’ school. In fact, for a week before the intersocial, we had dancing lessons in the main hall every lunchtime. You should have seen us. All the boys trying to learn to dance – together! I partnered Barry. We took it in turns to be the girl. By the end of the week, I could do a slow waltz!

  At the intersocial, Barry had danced most of the time with this girl called Kath and he asked her out for the following Saturday, but she’d already arranged to go out with her best friend Valerie, and that’s how the foursome was arranged: Barry and Kath, and me and Valerie. I’d had one dance with Valerie, so we sort of knew each other. She wasn’t bad looking at all. In fact, going by standards in the girls’ school, she was quite pretty.

  Now which tie should I put on – my Slim Jim, or that fancy Paisley one that I got from my Auntie Doreen for digging her garden? I think the Slim Jim – yeah, Jim’s the him, I’ll look great in that. As long as my mum doesn’t see. To her, Slim Jim ties and bicycle chains go together. Now how do you do a Windsor? Across, under, across, under again – oh, I haven’t enough tie left over, now. Across, under, under again, back across, and you get a big fat mess. Right, once more, and if I don’t get it right this time I’m not going. Across, under, under again, back across and third time lucky – a perfect Windsor knot, and just enough left over to tuck in my trousers.

  I liked looking in this mirror. My spots didn’t look too bad. Who are you kidding? You look like the ‘before’ bloke in that acne advert. Oh, how is it you always look your worst when it matters the most? Ah well, Valerie knows what I look like.

  My collar didn’t look too bad, considering I’d had to use matchsticks instead of whale-bones. I’d been thinking about this date all week. In fact, I couldn’t think about anything else. Now I kept wondering whether to go or not. Well, of course I wanted to go, I wouldn’t miss it for anything. Mind you, I hadn’t let on to Barry that I was keen. I made out I was doing him a favour when he asked me.

  ‘Look, Kath’ll only go out with me if you’ll take her friend. Go on, take her out, she’s not bad looking y’know.’

  I didn’t have to think twice. I liked her.

  ‘I don’t know, Barry, I’m not right keen.’

  ‘Oh, well, if you’re not I suppose I’ll have to ask Norbert Lightowler.’

  ‘All right, Barry, but only because you are my best friend.’

  ‘You’re a good lad. I’ll fix it up then.’

  And he arranged to meet them outside the Odeon at quarter to eight.

  Now for a touch of after-shave – not that I had anything to shave. I’d only used this stuff once before when I went to our Maureen’s birthday party. Maureen’s my cousin. That was a waste of time and all. The oldest girl there was only thirteen and that was our Maureen. What a lousy party. A load of giggling schoolgirls all asking me what kind of perfume I used. At least Valerie would appreciate the exhilarating freshness, the new experience in aftershave. I slapped some on my face. Ooh, smashing stuff this. It certainly was a new experience. I looked in the mirror. What it did was make my pimples look healthy. After a few seconds, the stinging stopped, and I must say, it was quite an exhilarating freshness.

  I just had my hair to do now, and I’d be ready. Barry had a great hairstyle, a Tony Curtis. They were all the rage. He could only have it like that at weekends though, because at our school they’re banned by the Headmaster. Barry says that he’s jealous because he’s bald. He might be right, I don’t know. It just seems to me that whenever you try to look smart or be a bit different, you’re suddenly branded as a hooligan and everybody’s telling you you’re halfway to borstal. It seems daft to me.

  I couldn’t have a Tony Curtis anyway, my hair just won’t go that way. Barry says it’s because I’ve got a double crown. So I do it with a parting and a big quiff at the front. The trouble is, I keep getting a tuft of hair sticking up at the back. It’s my double crown I suppose. Barry never has that trouble. He’s invented a special hair lotion – sugar and water mixed. It makes his hair as stiff as a board.

  Hey what time was it? I hadn’t been watching the time at all. I went to the top of the stairs.

  ‘Hey, Mum, what time is it?’

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘I said what time is it?’

  ‘Come down here.’

  I don’t know! My old mum! She’s getting deaf in her old age.

  ‘What’s wrong, are you going deaf?’

  ‘Y’what!’

  I knew why she couldn’t hear. She was running the tap in the kitchen. It’s always the same when you’re in a hurry.

  ‘Look, Mum, all I wanted was the time.’

  ‘Oh . . . ten to seven.’

  I could see that for myself now, from the kitchen clock. What a fantastic clock as well. It’s one of those like a frying pan that you hang on the wall, and it has a smiling face painted on it. It had hung above the fireplace for as long as I could remember. My mum was very fond of it. She says it’s never been a minute out since she’s had it.

  ‘Yes, ten to seven. It’s dead right, that is. It’s never been out since I’ve had it.’

  Ten to seven. I’d better get a move on, I was supposed to be meeting Barry at seven o’clock down in town. We’d arranged to meet early.

  ‘Tarah, Mum, I’ve got to go.’

  I thought I’d go out without my mum saying anything, but that would’ve been too much to hope for.

  ‘Hey, just a minute.’

  Oh dear, here we go.

  ‘Er, what, Mum?’

  I tried to make it sound as if I had no idea what she wanted.

  ‘Er, what do you want?’

  ‘Where do you think you’re going dressed like that?’

  Oh, if she started an argument now, I’d never get away.

  ‘Dressed like what, Mum?’

  ‘Don’t act the innocent with me, you know what I mean.’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  I could see that if I wasn’t careful, I was going to be here for ages.

  ‘Those tight trousers and that bootlace round your neck.’

  She meant my Slim Jim.

  ‘That’s my Slim Jim.’

  ‘And why don’t you get your hair cut?’

  I knew it was best not to argue, but
I couldn’t stop myself.

  ‘What’s wrong with my hair?’

  My mum was really getting into her stride now.

  ‘Why don’t you use your tie for a hair-ribbon? And what’s that smell, have you been at my perfume?’

  ‘Don’t be daft. It’s my after-shave.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Well, when you’re in court with all your other teddy boy friends, don’t you come running to me.’

  ‘Oh, I’m off.’

  And I went before she could say anything, though I could hear her shouting after me.

  ‘And be careful!’

  I don’t know, me and my mum, we always seemed to be squabbling these days.

  I didn’t know whether to wait for a bus, or start walking to the next stop – it’s a penny cheaper from there. I decided to walk and, of course, when I was right between the stops, a bus went past, so I ended up walking all the way. I was about a quarter of an hour late when I got to town, and Barry was already waiting for me.

  ‘Hey, where’ve you been? I’ve been standing here freezing for quarter of an hour.’

  ‘Sorry, Barry. I had a bit of a doo-dah with my mum.’

  I could see Barry looking at my new trousers.

  ‘Hey, are those your new pants?’

  ‘Yes. What do you think?’

  ‘They’re great, kiddo, great!’

  Barry had some new trousers on as well. A sort of bronzy colour.

  ‘Yours are new an’ all, aren’t they?’

  ‘Yeah, first time on. What are your bottoms?’

  ‘Sixteens. What’s yours?’

  ‘Fifteens.’

  Huh, Barry was lucky! His mum and dad let him wear just what he wanted.

  ‘I wanted fifteens, but Mum wouldn’t let me.’

  As we weren’t meeting Kath and Valerie outside the Odeon till quarter to eight, we had about twenty minutes to kill, so we went for a coffee. It was a new coffee bar that had only been open a couple of weeks. I’d never been before, but Barry had.

  It was quite full inside, so Barry told me to look for somewhere to sit while he got the coffees.

  ‘What do you want?’

  ‘Tea, please.’

  I wasn’t too fond of coffee.

  ‘You can’t have tea in a coffee bar.’

  ‘Course you can.’

  ‘Oh, all right.’

  While I was looking around, I saw a couple of people I knew. One of them was a teacher at our school. Funny, you don’t expect to find people like that in a coffee bar. I saw two seats on their own near the window. I signalled to Barry and he followed me over.

  ‘Here’s your tea.’

  ‘Ta.’

  It was the funniest cuppa I’d ever had.

  ‘Hey, Barry, I asked for tea.’

  ‘It is tea. It’s lemon tea. That’s what you drink in coffee bars.’

  ‘Oh.’

  We didn’t take long over our drinks because it wasn’t far off quarter to eight, and we were just going when Barry said he wanted to tell me something.

  ‘Yeah, what is it?’

  ‘Well, just one thing. Err . . . when we get inside the pictures . . . err . . . if I start kissing Kath, you’ll have to start kissing Valerie.’

  ‘Y’what?’

  I thought he was kidding at first, but he looked very serious.

  ‘Y’see it’s like that on a foursome.’

  ‘Well, what if she doesn’t want to kiss me?’

  ‘Of course she will. You just follow me, you’ll be all right. Here, have a peppermint.’

  I must say, Barry was very confident. I didn’t like the sound of it at all. I mean, I hardly knew her. How would I know if she wanted to kiss me? Oh, heck.

  The Town Hall clock was just striking quarter to as we got to the Odeon. I could see Kath waiting for us but I couldn’t see Valerie.

  ‘Hey, Barry. Mine hasn’t turned up.’

  ‘Of course she has. She’s probably inside getting some sweets.’

  Kath saw us coming and came to meet us. I left all the talking to Barry.

  ‘Hi, Kath, where’s Valerie? Inside?’

  She gave me a funny sort of look, and I knew what was coming. She’d probably gone and got chickenpox, mumps, or something like that.

  ‘She isn’t here. It’s her dad.’

  Her dad? What’s her dad got to do with it? This was too much for me.

  ‘What’s her dad got to do with it?’

  ‘He won’t let her come. He says she can’t go out with you – because you’re a teddy boy!’

  THE EXAM

  I looked at the exam paper. ‘Northern Universities Joint Matriculation Board. History: Advanced Level.’ Bit like seeing an old friend, no, an old enemy, that’d be more like it. We’d been doing practice exam papers like these for eighteen months now, and I’d grown to hate them. Well, this time it was the real thing. The climax of seven years at grammar school. I had to finish this paper. It wasn’t just a rehearsal for the big day. No excuses like:

  ‘Well, sir, I thought this time I’d just concentrate on the Napoleonic Wars, sir,’ which translated meant, ‘What a lousy paper! There was only one question I could do, the Napoleonic Wars.’

  I couldn’t bring myself to read this real paper at first. I kept thinking about my mum. I kept thinking about what had happened the other day. Why should a little thing like that have made such a difference? But it did. Nothing seemed important any more.

  I looked round the hall. The school had hired it specially, because there has to be a three-foot space between each desk. The school hall would have been big enough for a two-foot space, but not for three. This hall belonged to the Territorial Army, and every now and again we could hear what sounded like five hundred men marching by. Usually, we sit our exams at the Mechanics Institute, but this year somebody had forgotten to book it up, and the Amateur Operatic and Dramatic Society had beaten us to it and were rehearsing The Dancing Years there.

  Before the exam started, Mr Holdsworth, the invigilator (he’s the woodwork master at our school, and he taught me about five years ago, but I don’t think he knows me from Adam now), anyway, he told us all not to take any notice of the noises outside. He didn’t tell us that half the army would be on the move. I think I’d have preferred The Dancing Years!

  As I was looking round, I could see all the other lads engrossed in their work. I could see Norbert Lightowler picking his nose. I had to laugh to myself. For seven years I’d watched Norbert Lightowler pick his nose. He can’t help it. He doesn’t know he’s doing it. It must help him concentrate, I suppose. I mean, some people bite their nails when they’re concentrating, and some people chew gum. Well, Norbert, he picks his nose.

  I remember when we first came to the school, one of the teachers shouted out, ‘Wrong way home, Lightowler.’ We didn’t know what he meant, of course, but everybody soon realised, except Norbert. After a while nobody noticed any more. We just left him alone.

  It’s funny really. Out of our crowd there’s only Norbert and me still here. Barry left even before O Levels. He should never have gone to a grammar school. His mum and dad weren’t at all pleased when he passed his scholarship. Too much expense they said. Actually, they didn’t believe him at first. They said it wasn’t possible. You couldn’t blame them, either. Nobody thought Barry’d get to grammar school. Anyway, he left before he was sixteen. He’s working in a butcher’s shop now. Doing all right, too. I saw him the other day. He’s assistant manager. Reckons he’ll be manager when they open a new branch.

  ‘I’m telling you, kid, when I’m managing this branch I’ll be knocking up forty or fifty quid a week basic, and then there’s my commission.’

  I told him about prospects and future and all that. You know, like my mum tells me. But I didn’t convince him. I didn’t even convince myself.

  ‘What are you talking about, future and prospects? Nineteen and managing my own shop nearly. That isn’t a bad future, is it?’

  I had to agree with him.r />
  ‘I mean what do you do at weekends? How much money do you have to spend?’

  I told him about my grocery round.

  ‘I do my grocery round at Atkinson’s. I get a couple of quid for that.’

  ‘A couple of quid!’

  ‘Yes, and my mum gives me another couple.’

  ‘Not much, is it – four quid?’

  ‘It lasts me!’

  Does it heckers like last me. By Thursday, I always have to cadge off my mum.

  ‘Well, all I can say is that leaving school was the best thing that’s happened to me.’

  As I was reading the exam paper, I started thinking that leaving school would’ve been the best thing to happen to me, too. It’s ridiculous, I’m nearly eighteen and still at school. Barry’s right. It’s OK to talk about the future and prospects, but what about the present? Life’s just passing me by.

  Norbert was still picking his nose, only twice as much now, because he was writing more quickly. Oh, I’d better get on with the exam, I suppose. I started reading through, and ticked the questions I thought I could answer.

  But honest! I reckon one of the biggest mistakes of my life was passing the scholarship to grammar school. I would’ve been all right if I hadn’t gone to the grammar. I’d’ve left school at fifteen, got a regular job, and by now, I’d have some cash in my pocket. No, I don’t mean that, but it does all seem a waste of time. Same with these A Levels. I’m not bothered about going to university. But my mum talks to me about prospects and future, and how she’s going to work hard so I can go on studying. I can’t turn round and tell her she’s wasting her time, because, well, she’s my mum. She’s always right. At least, I used to think so, anyway, until the other day.

  I mean, if it hadn’t been for my mum, I would’ve jacked this lot in ages ago, like Barry and Tony. Mind you, with Tony it was a bit different. He wanted to stay at school.

  Tony was always cleverer than me. Even at primary school, he was always top of the class. The brain of the school we used to call him. We were in the same class at the grammar, and he was always in the top three. He was good at sport as well. Not like Arthur Holdroyd who’s good at exams, and that’s all. It sounds rotten, but I can’t think of anybody who likes Arthur Holdroyd, not even the teachers. He’s very clever, but slimy with it. I can’t even imagine his own family liking him. Or like Dennis Gower. Now he used to be brilliant at sports – cricket, soccer, running, jumping – absolutely terrific, but he was as thick as the custard we have for school dinner. Mind you, if I had the choice, I mean to be like Arthur Holdroyd or Dennis Gower, I’d rather be like Dennis any day.