The Fib, The Swap, The Trick and Other Stories

by George Layton

  ‘The White bloody Rose – that was his bloody name!’

  I kicked the front door and ran up to my bedroom. I knew it was wrong to swear, even to myself, specially on a Sunday, but I couldn’t help it. I wished now I’d never found the blooming magazine. If I hadn’t found it he’d have just been an old man in a wheelchair, wouldn’t he? I don’t suppose I’d have thought about him again. But now I knew he was ‘The White Rose’ I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I sat on my bed holding The Wrestler. I felt like tearing the thing up. Tearing it up and throwing it the dustbin.

  ‘I’m sorry I shouted, Auntie Doreen.’

  ‘I know you are, love, you didn’t mean it.’

  I looked at my mum.

  ‘I didn’t mean it, Mum.’

  ‘I know, let’s forget about it. Eat your dinner.’

  We were having our Sunday roast. Pork with lots of crackling and crunchy potatoes. It were lovely. I felt better now.

  ‘Can I have some more gravy, Mum?’

  Yeah, much better.

  ‘Over my potatoes, please, Mum.’

  ‘Yes sir, three bags full sir.’

  We were laughing now. It was all forgotten.

  ‘When you’ve finished your dinner, go and get that magazine. I want your Auntie Doreen to see how handsome Eric Shackleton was before he had his accident.’

  I sat on my bed holding The Wrestler. I felt like tearing the thing up. Tearing it up and throwing it in the dustbin. So I did. I went downstairs, out into the backyard and threw it away. But I didn’t tear it up. As I was looking at it in the bin, staring at the picture of ‘The White Rose’ holding up his belt, I thought of poor Mr Shackleton sitting in his wheelchair staring out of his front window and I was glad I hadn’t torn it up.

  I could hear the church bells ringing as I ran down St Barnabas Street. I got to his house and there he was sitting in his wheelchair staring out of the window. I smiled and gave my little wave. This time he smiled back quicker, I think he recognised me. I went closer and held up The Wrestler magazine and pointed to his picture. He looked at it for ages, smiled again and slowly lifted up his hand. Then I realised it was his thumb he was holding up. He was giving me a thumbs-up sign. I pointed to his picture again and gave him a thumbs-up back.

  A door opened behind him and a woman came in carrying a mug of tea or something with a straw in it. He had this sort of table across his wheelchair and the woman put the mug down on it and held the straw to Mr Shackleton’s mouth. He pulled away and pointed at the window. At me. The woman turned round and started shouting.

  ‘I’ve told you lads before, now go away before I call the police!’

  ‘No!’

  I held The Wrestler up for her to see and pointed to the picture on the front. She mouthed, ‘Wait there,’ and went out of the room. A couple of seconds later the front door opened.

  ‘I’m sorry, love, there’s a gang of lads sometimes tease my dad and make faces at him through the window, I thought you were one of ’em.’

  I held out the magazine.

  ‘No, I found this and I thought he might want to see it.’

  She took hold of it and stared at the cover for a couple of seconds.

  ‘There’s more photos inside. Page four, look.’

  She looked and smiled at me.

  ‘He is “The White Rose”, in’t he?’

  ‘He was, before he had his accident.’

  What was she talking about? He is ‘The White Rose’. Just because he’s in a wheelchair, it doesn’t stop him still being ‘The White Rose’. If he was ‘The White Rose’ he still is. She gave the magazine back to me.

  ‘No, it’s for him. I want him to have it . . .’

  I poured some more gravy over my potatoes.

  ‘Wait till you see it, Doreen, you forget what a handsome man he was.’

  They were still going on about the magazine.

  ‘Run upstairs and fetch it, love, while I get the apple crumble.’

  I love my mum’s apple crumble.

  ‘I haven’t got it, I gave it to him.’

  ‘Y’what? Who? What are you talking about?’

  ‘Mr Shackleton – “The White Rose”.’

  And I told her how I’d gone round to his house while she and my Auntie Doreen had been at church.

  ‘I thought it might cheer him up.’

  My Auntie Doreen put her arm round me and gave me a big hug.

  ‘What a lovely thing to do. You see what a thoughtful lad he is, Freda.’

  She kissed me. I could smell roast pork.

  ‘I bet he was pleased. What did he say?’

  My mum tutted and sort of laughed as she was getting the apple crumble out of the oven.

  ‘Doreen, the poor man can’t talk, he hasn’t said a word for years.’

  She gave me some apple crumble.

  ‘Custard?’

  I love custard but only if it hasn’t got lumps in it. My mum’s is never lumpy, not like school custard.

  ‘Yes, please.’

  ‘I’m sorry, love, but that magazine won’t have meant a thing to him, you know. It was a nice thought but you wasted your time.’

  What was wrong with them all? It had meant something to him. He’d been really pleased. I burned my tongue on the custard.

  ‘Careful, love, it’s hot.’

  ‘It’s lovely, Mum.’

  That’s what the woman had said as well, that it wouldn’t mean anything to him.

  ‘No, it’s for him. I want him to have it.’

  The woman looked at the front cover again and shook her head.

  ‘It’s very nice of you, dear, but you might as well keep it for yourself. It won’t mean a thing to him. He doesn’t remember anything about those days.’

  But I knew it did mean something to him. When I’d shown him the picture through the window he’d given me a thumbs-up sign, hadn’t he? It must have meant something to him. I’m sure he remembered.

  ‘I’d like you to give it to him, please.’

  She sighed and shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘Well, you might as well come in and give it to him yourself.’

  ‘No, er, I’ve got to go home—’

  She didn’t hear me, I don’t think she did anyway. She’d gone back down the hall so I followed her into the house and into the front room.

  ‘Dad, there’s a young lad come to see you. He’s got something for you.’

  She talked to him like he was a little baby, really slow and loud, like he was stupid.

  ‘Do you remember when you used to wrestle, Dad? Do you remember? What did they used to call you? The – White – Rose.’

  I couldn’t understand why she was shouting. He wasn’t deaf. He’d heard me when I’d tapped on the window and I’d only tapped quietly.

  ‘The – White – Rose. Do you remember, Dad?’

  He just looked at her. His eyes were watery. She turned to me.

  ‘You can give it to him if you like but it’ll not mean anything, he doesn’t remember. Give us a shout when you’ve done, I’ll be in the kitchen.’

  She went. I took The Wrestler over to him.

  ‘Mr Shackleton – I found this magazine and I thought you might want it ’cos you’re on the front. Look.’

  I held it up and showed him the photo of him holding up the champion’s belt. I didn’t shout like she’d done, I knew he wasn’t deaf.

  ‘That’s you, in’t it, Mr Shackleton? You’re “The White Rose”, aren’t you?’

  He looked at it and after a couple of seconds he looked at me and smiled. Then he did it again – the thumbs-up sign. He gave me the thumbs-up sign. See – he did remember.

  ‘Can I have some more apple crumble, Mum?’

  She gave me one of her looks.

  ‘Please?’

  ‘That’s better. Doreen?’

  ‘No thanks, love, I’ve had to loosen my skirt as it is. It was all lovely.’

  I sat and ate my second helping of apple crumble a
nd custard and thought about Mr Shackleton. I was so glad I hadn’t thrown The Wrestler away.

  THE WHITE ROSE

  Part Two

  I tap quietly on his front room window. His eyes are closed. He doesn’t open them. I tap again, a bit louder. He still doesn’t open them. So I tap even louder and he doesn’t move, he looks like he’s dead. Hell fire, maybe he is dead. My stomach churns and I knock on the window, really loud this time. He opens his eyes. I made him jump.

  ‘Hello, Mr Shackleton, sorry if I made you jump. I’m on my way to school. I thought I’d surprise you.’

  I’ve got used to it now, him sometimes being asleep when I go round to see him, but that first time, that Monday morning on my way to school, the morning Tony was off with scarlet fever, it’d really frightened me. I’d really thought he was dead. I hadn’t shouted, I’d mouthed at him like my mum does when she sees somebody who can’t hear her. She’d done it last Saturday afternoon when we’d passed the hairdresser’s and seen Tony’s mum under the dryer. She’d mouthed at her through the window.

  ‘How is he? Is he getting any better? Is he still under the doctor?’

  Tony’d been off school with scarlet fever all week. Mrs Wainright had mouthed back. I couldn’t tell what she was saying but my mum could.

  ‘What did she say, Mum?’

  ‘He’ll be back at school next week, he’ll be coming round the usual time.’

  Tony’s my best friend. He lives two streets away and we always go to school together and he’s always on time. But last Monday I’d still been waiting for him at twenty-five to nine when my mum had given me my dinner money.

  ‘You’d better go without him, love, you don’t want to make yourself late as well.’

  I put my dinner money in my pocket and while I was putting on my coat there was a knock on the front door.

  ‘Talk of the devil, here he is. Come on, love, get your school-bag, it’s nearly twenty to nine.’

  ‘It might be Norbert, Mum.’

  Norbert Lightowler sometimes tags along as well but he’s always late so we never wait for him. It’d turned out to be neither of them, it was Mrs Wainright. She was out of breath.

  ‘I hope I haven’t made your lad late, Freda, but our Tony’s not well, looks like scarlet fever. I’m going to have to fetch the doctor. Will you tell your teacher when you get to school, love?’

  I said I would and I got going. I’d had an idea.

  I always try and see Mr Shackleton on my way back from school but when I’m with Tony and Norbert and some of the others I go home first and then I go and see him. I wouldn’t want to go round there with any of the other lads, he might think it was that gang that tease him and make faces at him, especially Norbert ’cos that’s just what he would do. He’s stupid is Norbert.

  Mr Shackleton’s got used to me coming round on an evening, I think he looks forward to it. But last Monday, when Tony was poorly with scarlet fever and I’d been on my own, I thought I’d go and see him on my way to school. You know, surprise him.

  I tapped quietly on his front-room window. His eyes were closed. He didn’t open them. I tapped again, a bit louder. He still didn’t open them. So I tapped even louder and he didn’t move, he looked like he was dead. Hell fire, maybe he was dead. My stomach churned and I knocked on the window, really loud this time. He opened his eyes. I made him jump.

  ‘Hello, Mr Shackleton, sorry if I made you jump. I’m on my way to school. I thought I’d surprise you.’

  I think he could tell what I was saying. Even if he couldn’t it didn’t matter, he was just pleased to see me. He smiled. His eyes were watering and I waved to him. It’s always the same, that’s all we do. I wave to him, he smiles, gives me his thumbs-up sign, I give a thumbs-up back, then I go. But it had frightened me thinking he was dead like that.

  ‘What’s it like then, scarlet fever?’

  ‘Bloomin’ horrible—’

  Another Monday. On our way to school. Tony was better.

  ‘Temperature. Sore throat, you can hardly swallow and my cheeks were all red and your tongue goes red an’ all.’

  ‘Everybody’s tongue’s red.’

  I stuck mine out and showed him.

  ‘No, redder than that, really red. Strawberry red, my mum said it were.’

  I was glad he was back, Tony’s my best friend. But the week he’d been off poorly I’d gone past Mr Shackleton’s every morning on my way to school and now I was worried that he’d be looking out for me. I didn’t want him to think I’d forgotten about him.

  ‘Oh no – I’ve left my dinner money on the hall table. You go on, I’ll see you there.’

  It was the first thing that came into my head. I ran off as if I was going back home, cut through Skinner Lane, ran up Beamsley Lane, turned left by the library, right into St Barnabas Street and then walked the rest of the way to Mr Shackleton’s. I’d be all right, I wouldn’t be late. Tony and me always give ourselves plenty of time. I just wanted to let him know not to look out for me in the mornings any more.

  He wasn’t there. There was no one in the front room. It was empty. I’d got so used to seeing him, sitting there at the window, it gave me a bit of a shock.

  ‘What are you up to? No good, I should think, if you’re like any of those other tykes that are always hanging round here.’

  It was the lady next door. I hadn’t seen her come out, she made me jump.

  ‘Go on, get off to school before I call the police.’

  ‘No, I’m lookin’ for Mr Shackleton, I always wave to him when I go past, he knows me.’

  She looked at me.

  ‘Are you the lad that brought that magazine for him a few weeks back? The one with him on the front?’

  I nodded.

  ‘Yeah, The Wrestler. He was Yorkshire champion. “The White Rose”, they called him.’

  She smiled at me.

  ‘That was a right nice thing to do, Brenda told me all about it. Gave her dad a whole new lease of life, she says.’

  ‘Oh . . .’

  I wasn’t sure what she was talking about, but it sounded all right. She was still smiling anyway.

  ‘You’ve just missed him, love. He was unwell in the night, Brenda’s taken him to the doctor’s.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Bit of a temperature, nothing serious.’

  I hoped it wasn’t scarlet fever.

  ‘Hey, it’s nearly quarter to nine, you’d best get off to school, lad.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  She picked up the pint of milk that was on the doorstep.

  ‘My friend had scarlet fever, he says it’s horrible.’

  I don’t think she heard me, she’d gone back in the house.

  ‘Fletcher . . .’

  ‘Here, sir.’

  ‘Garside . . .’

  ‘Sir.’

  ‘Gower . . .’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  While Mr Parry was taking the register most of us were messing about like we always do, he never seems to notice. He never seems that bothered anyway. Sometimes when we have him on an afternoon we can do what we like ’cos he falls asleep. He has this bottle of medicine in his jacket pocket that he has to take and I think that’s what makes him sleepy. When I have to take medicine my mum always measures it out on a spoon. Mr Parry drinks his straight from the bottle.

  Barraclough was stuffing bits of paper down the back of David Holdsworth’s neck, Kevin Knowles and Colin Lambert were playing Cat’s Cradle under their desks, Geoff Gower and Norbert were firing paper pellets at each other and Arthur Boocock was giving Keith Hopwood a Chinese burn. Nearly everybody seemed to be mucking around.

  ‘Keep it down while I take the register. Hardcastle . . .’

  ‘Here, sir.’

  ‘Holdsworth . . .’

  ‘Sir.’

  I was thinking about Mr Shackleton going to the doctor. I was hoping he was all right. I took some paper out of the middle of my geography exercise book and started drawing a picture of
him. I was trying to do the one of him lifting up the belt when he became Yorkshire champion. I thought I’d give it to him on my way home from school but I’m useless at drawing. It looked stupid. It was rubbish. I put a moustache and a beard on him, screwed the paper up into a ball and threw it at Norbert but it missed by a mile so he didn’t even notice. That’s when I heard my name being called out.

  ‘Yes sir, here, sir, sorry sir.’

  ‘Three times I called your name out, lad, why don’t you speak up? I’ll tell you why, because you’re mucking about like the rest of them. Now keep the noise down while I finish this register. All of you!’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  We all sang it together.

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘That’s better. McDougall . . .’

  The bell went. Home time at last. I hate Mondays, they’re boring. I hate school, every day’s boring. I ran as quick as I could to the cloakroom. I wanted to get away before Norbert and Tony and any of the others so I could go straight to Mr Shackleton’s on my way home. I needn’t have bothered, they were all staying on to play football in the schoolyard. I told them I had to get home. Norbert tried to persuade me to play, they were one short.

  ‘You can stay on for a bit, can’t yer?’

  I could have done but I wanted to see Mr Shackleton.

  ‘No, my mum’s taking me to the chiropodist, I’ve got an in-growing toenail.’

  I couldn’t think of anything else. It was the first thing that came into my head, just like in the morning when I’d told Tony I’d left my dinner money at home. I didn’t even know what an in-growing toenail was but my Auntie Doreen had been to the chiropodist with hers about two weeks back and it was all I could think of.

  ‘I’d better get going, she’ll be waiting for me.’

  I couldn’t believe it. She’d said he’d had a bit of a temperature, the woman next door. Nothing serious, that’s what she’d said. Just a bit unwell in the night. And now he was dead. I couldn’t believe it. As soon as I got there I knew. The front-room curtains were closed and I knew. I remembered what my Auntie Doreen had told me the day Mr Bastow had died.