Fifty Years of Fear

by Ross Greenwood

  ‘Betty, how are you?’

  There was no sign of Arnold.

  ‘Young man,’ she said as she looked right through me. ‘A seat at the window please. I never get to sit at the window.’

  She turned to a younger woman with a striking resemblance to her and whispered, ‘Can’t they employ any English staff?’ The younger woman mouthed, ‘Sorry,’ to me and helped Betty into the room. I staggered outside and leaned against the bonnet of the car. Frank got out.

  ‘You okay?’

  ‘For the first time in my life I want to get pissed.’

  He looked at me and grinned.

  ‘I can help you with that.’

  Chapter 9

  We eventually parked in one of the spaces at a chalet park as everywhere else seemed to be residents’ parking only. It was only a ten-minute walk along the breezy cliff top back to the alcohol in town. The strange weather matched my mood.

  The day had cooled and there was a sea fret coming inland from the high tide and a keen wind. It was quiet for a Saturday. No doubt the gloom had put off all except the most enthusiastic of drinkers. I would make up for them.

  We bar crawled, starting with beers, before moving to shots and spirits. It helped. My mind and body relaxed as my liver geared up for the fight ahead. However, inside, there was a small swirl of rage. I didn’t know where to direct it.

  We weren’t religious so laying the turn of events at God’s gates seemed unrealistic. It being ‘one of those things’ was a terrible frustration though. A bell dragged me back to the present.

  ‘That’s last orders,’ Frank said. ‘Something for the road, sir. Or the car, for that matter?’

  More alcohol wasn't an appealing prospect, but he'd expressed his enjoyment at having a drink with his brother more than once and it seemed churlish to refuse. He returned with vigour.

  ‘Good news, there’s a nightclub open tonight. Called ‘The Pit’.’

  ‘Sounds wonderful.’

  ‘Yes, I wonder if it’s one for bears or snakes. Maybe there will be a few chicks. Time for a couple more drinks at least. You’ll be glad of them sleeping in the car with this weather.’

  It turned out it would be best described as a shit pit - a dark damp hole full of scum. There was a door next to a hotel at the top of the ramp to the beach which opened to a long slippery set of stairs. We paid two pounds each to a pair of bouncers to get in. It went straight in one of their pockets. They were big men in their forties with world-weary expressions.

  Then, we entered a gloomy room with ear splitting music booming from massive speakers. I’d be surprised if they’d ever had someone stupid enough to go in there who wasn’t a local. Or at least one who didn’t immediately leave. The din continued and it was so dingy I couldn't see what was behind the bar, but I swear all thirty eyeballs in there followed our moves.

  ‘Jesus, Frank. Let’s get out of here.’

  ‘No way, man. Ignore these pricks. Stare them back down. What are they going to do?’

  As we were outnumbered, they could more or less do what they liked. I suspected the police wouldn’t be in any rush to go down there either. We would never be seen again.

  Frank got us a drink and I found a seat near the door. It felt like having a final request in front of the hangman. I couldn’t stop myself looking around at such open hostility. For lack of anything else to look at, I stared at the filthy floor and sipped the foul liquid.

  Frank garbled a few linked-up words to me.

  I thought he said, ‘just turds’.

  ‘Say that again, Frank?’

  ‘I said, last orders?’

  ‘Go on, but let’s make it quick.’

  He returned with a woman in tow. She looked old enough to be my mum, before my dad was sick anyway. I shook her hand, not wanting to get close to the dental work that was exposed by her rictus grin after the shout of, ‘Juz call me Gloria.’

  She leaned towards me and, for a nasty moment, I thought she was going to kiss me on the cheek, European style. Instead, she froze, her eyes opened a few more millimetres, then she tilted back the same distance behind and her eyes squinted. A technique perfected over many years to remain upright in a hurricane of drink.

  They stood next to me, laughing and giggling. I knocked the rest of my spirit back in one, scanning the room as the observers gave up any pretence of staring elsewhere. Fear surged through my body as a tall youth came swaggering over. I checked our escape route and saw the two bouncers had appeared. They met my gaze and took their hands out of their pockets.

  The youth posed beside Frank, then stood next to him and said something in his ear. Frank looked at his face in surprise. I saw a slight bulge in his jawline before he moved forward to reply. As he did, he crouched a little and, at the last second, pulled back. He hammered his elbow up into the unsuspecting chin in front of him.

  It took about two seconds for the body to hit the floor and approximately four for the onlookers to respond. Drink-addled minds roared in protest and I involuntarily backed towards the door, as shocked as they were.

  Two vice-like hands gripped my upper arms and spun me around. I saw the same happen to Frank. The bouncers slammed us through the exit, opening it with Frank’s face, and propelled us up the stairs. One of them shouted ‘Run.’ We didn’t stop to ask where.

  We sprinted along the promenade back towards where we'd parked our car. The moonless sky and swirling mist made it seem like we were in a horror movie. Maybe we were.

  The initial burst of adrenaline wore off quickly and Frank lagged behind. It wouldn’t have taken a genius to say it was blood loss that was tiring him. A circle of crimson spread on his shirt where it poured from his nose. Excited voices echoed out of the darkness.

  ‘Please try, Frank. Or they’ll catch us.’

  I dragged him along for another hundred metres before he collapsed onto a bench. He gasped air into his lungs.

  ‘Frank, come on.’

  ‘Fuck that, I don’t run from anyone. You go, I’ll meet you at the car.’

  I couldn’t help but smile.

  ‘Look at you, you’re done.’

  Three figures appeared out of the shadows and surrounded us. They were young and furious. Frank hauled himself to his feet and breathed hard next to me.

  ‘Running away, were we? Got some nerve in our club. Come on boys.’

  They came forward. A voice whispered at my side.

  ‘Too drunk to run, not to brawl.’

  He growled and met two of them straight on, wild fists swinging from drunken angles. The man who spoke stepped towards me and grabbed me by the throat, shoving me against the wall. I didn’t want to fight, I never had. I don’t think I knew how.

  As the back of my head hit the concrete behind me, the ball of swirling fire in my core that had been spinning all night exploded. Frustration and rejection seized his collar in reply. We understood at the same time that they were a powerful combination. That, combined with years of heavy lifting, meant the odds weren’t fair.

  His expression opened with worry as I realised I’d single-handedly moved wardrobes that were much heavier than this one scared boy. Alcohol had given purpose and focus to my rage and I shoved him into a post. Once, twice, it was a blur. A wounded snarl from my brother reminded me he was outnumbered.

  The other three were a mass of arms, legs and faces on the floor. I picked a head I didn’t recognise and swung a foot. The remaining conscious boy cried out as Frank punched his nose. Exhaustion prevented him from doing much damage even though the lad was too frightened to defend himself. It was as if the shock of seeing his immobile friends had poured ice into his body.

  With mutual cries, they both fell over, and the lad wriggled from Frank’s embrace, turned over, and crawled away. Frank rolled onto his back and laughed. I looked at the inert figures around us and pulled him to his feet.

  He had to be supported through the pitch and putt course and the deserted street that led to the chalet park. Fear o
f the police dragged the last reserves from our bodies.

  Arriving at the car, our ears strained for sirens. There weren’t any but there was no way I could sleep there. Miles over the limit, I edged the vehicle onto the Overstrand Road, and we left the scene of our crimes.

  Two and a half horrendous hours felt like twenty as I drove home. Every streetlamp and headlight looked like the beam from a waiting police car. None of them were. My brother slept the entire way and only woke as we entered the outskirts of the city.

  I turned the radio off to hear him breathing as he was a mass of congealed blood, yet I became glad of the quiet. I sobered up and tried to comprehend the magnitude of what we’d just done.

  Was it self-defence? Or had it gone beyond that? I’d lost control and didn’t recognise myself. I suspected that the fact it occurred when I was drunk for the only time in my life was not a coincidence.

  ‘Where are we?’ Frank managed as he rubbed his eyes.

  ‘We’re back. Five minutes from home.’

  ‘Crazy night.’ It was a statement, not a question. Not one that seemed to bother him. He shook his head and tried to roust himself as I manoeuvred the car onto our drive. I was eighteen years old. It felt like I’d doubled in age through a single experience.

  ‘This isn’t me, Frank. Never again. Do you understand?’

  He nodded but his thoughts were elsewhere. I noticed then too. Even though my watch said three a.m., the lights were on at the front of our house. We let ourselves in the back as usual.

  I popped my head round my dad’s door, forgetting he slept in the lounge. An action I still repeated twenty times a day to check he was fine. His bed was there with his duvet rolled up on top of it. That was weird, so I followed Frank into the lounge. My mum was in front of the fire. The ashtray next to her full. My brother said nothing, just stared.

  ‘Where’s Dad?’ I finally said after no information was provided.

  She turned from the fire and looked at me with dry eyes. ‘He’s gone, Vincent.’

  ‘To the hospital?’

  ‘To his maker.’

  I knelt beside her. The details didn’t matter. She pulled me into an embrace.

  ‘It was for the best,’ she said. Her whole body was tense; it must have been shock. I glanced behind me.

  Frank stayed at the door, his blue eyes piercing into mine.

  He repeated her words. ‘It was for the best.’

  I heard him clump up the stairs, and the tears for this terrible night finally fell.

  Chapter 10

  1985 – Age: 19

  Another strange year. The world around me was changing. AIDS, Live Aid, London riots, but it felt like we’d spent it in a bubble together. My father’s death affected me the most, but then I got over it quicker than my mum and Frank.

  I thought my mum would recover now she was free of what must have been a terrible burden. She didn’t. Perhaps it broke her. She ate little and smoked plenty. We tried to get her to rally with trips out. She came but was quiet.

  I thought of the old lady from the Hotel De Paris whose husband died and took half of her with him. It was the same, although that lady was happy to enjoy her twilight years whereas my mum seemed to be rushing toward the exit.

  Frank started the job on the Perkins Engines production line. He got me one there too. Sometimes we worked next to each other. It was repetitive hard work with almost unlimited overtime. Ideal for our purposes. I didn’t want to focus on the past.

  There were a few people I recognised from school there too although nobody talked to me much. I went back to reading. I thought it would be easier to live my life through others’ experiences. The days rolled by and I wondered if anything would ever change. Of course, it did, it always does.

  On a sunny Thursday morning, Frank arrived at work and resigned. He’d been getting uptight and twitchy for some unknown reason and just said he was moving away. I’d bought a nearly new Ford Fiesta as a runabout, so we watched him pack his few belongings into the old Cortina.

  ‘So you’re going to live with Billy?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where does Billy live?’

  ‘Not Cromer.’

  I flinched.

  ‘Don’t worry they’ll never catch us for that.’

  ‘We’d like to know where you are, so we can think of you.’ Luckily, my mum appeared to have selective listening.

  ‘Up north.’

  ‘Up north where?’

  ‘Relax, Mum. I’ll write.’

  They didn’t appear as comfortable with each other since my dad died. Almost as if his absence meant they had to focus on each other, and neither was quite sure how to proceed. He turned to me and shook my hand.

  ‘Vinnie. Good luck.’

  He got in the car, honked his horn and, just like that, he left.

  My mum put my arm around her as we watched the puff of smoke from the old car dissipate. There was a slight screech of tyres at the end of the road and then he disappeared from view. Both our cheeks lifted at the sound.

  ‘That was abrupt.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a strange world, Vincent.’

  ‘One that I don’t understand.’

  ‘Family is all you need in this world, Vincent.’

  ‘Really? We don’t seem to have much of ours remaining.’ I regretted the words as soon as they were released. They would hurt her and I wouldn’t gain anything by saying them.

  ‘We all make mistakes. Then you pay for them. But you do what has to be done.’

  ‘Sometimes I feel like a caged bird. You know, when someone has accidentally left the door open. I hop out and it all looks so mad. So, even though I’m free to do what I like, I still go back in and choose the prison I understand.’

  ‘You’ll be fine with me. Don’t worry about your brother either. He can look after himself and he’ll be home soon. You wait and see.’

  ‘You’ve been brilliant you know, Mum. It was you by Dad’s side all those years. Frank always talks about it. We’re very proud of you.’

  She grinned. I wondered later if that was the last time I would think of her as truly happy. She spoke with a lightness that animated her entire face.

  ‘In the end, the only judgement that matters is that of your children.’

  We went back inside the house. Just the two of us.

  Chapter 11

  1986 - Age: 20

  My mum died late on a Sunday morning. Earlier that day I’d gone to her room because she hadn’t got out of bed. I asked her if she wanted a cup of tea and she looked at me and said, ‘You’re a good boy, Vincent.’ As the door closed, I heard a slow sighing sound.

  I didn’t think too much of it at the time. She produced plenty of strange gasps by that point. I don’t believe in souls and such-like but I swear when I left that room it had someone else in it and when I returned with two cups in hand, it was empty. There was however, a small body with a white face, as if she’d always been made of stone. The cigarette between her fingers had a long line of ash.

  I thought about CPR or ringing an ambulance. Not knowing how to do the former one and not having a telephone line to make the latter didn’t help, but neither were important. It was obvious it was already too late for both. Besides, my mother would have hated an undignified end, being electrocuted or pummelled. Instead, I held her hand and we sat together. It’s a strange thing to lose a parent. It’s even worse when the second one departs. It’s cataclysmic when you have nobody to tell.

  I was alone. I looked out the window and saw a frightening place. Somewhere I would have to venture on my own. There was nobody in my life to talk to at the day’s end. Could I overcome my fears? I searched my mind for the strength to begin again, and nothing appeared.

  How does a life end where no one needs to be told? Frank hadn’t written and he could have been dead for all we knew. After a few hours, her cool skin became cold and stiff. With relief, I remembered our neighbours.

  May came back with me and, desp
ite not looking much healthier than my mum, took over. She tried to close Mum’s eyes.

  ‘You need to shut them straight away in future, Vinnie.’

  ‘God, sorry. I didn’t know.’

  ‘Why would you? You will do next time. Don’t worry, your mother isn’t bothered now.’

  May told me my mum had seen the doctor the previous week. I wasn't aware of that either. He had been wanting her to go for tests for ages but she'd refused. I found the telephone number and rang him from the phone box. He didn’t take long. A brisk shake of my hand and a nod and he left me standing at the door. He knew his way to her room. He said, ‘She was a strong woman with a weak heart,' and gave us a certificate.

  'Put the kettle on, Vinnie,' May said.

  ‘Now what? Do we ring an ambulance?’

  ‘I don’t fancy their chances with this one, do you?’

  I didn’t know what I was expecting from death. Black humour wasn’t part of it, but it helped. I’d missed the process for my father and it had never occurred to ask.

  ‘Go and get the envelope on my fireplace. Call the funeral parlour. It’s all arranged. They’ll come for your mum.’

  I took another long look at the deceased. The body diminished in a few short hours. She didn’t look peaceful, although it was just like her to have sorted all this beforehand. I couldn’t believe that I never knew how ill she was. Maybe there was help, but she chose not to take it. Was I not enough to hang on for?

  ‘Make the call. There will be plenty of time for thinking, Vinnie.’

  Later, May told me that the pair of them had funeral plans; her and my mum. It was a weird thing to pay for when we had little for living expenses. They both had the minimum cover possible though. The parlour knew what they were dealing with and we got the basics. We'd get the cheapest coffin and no transport. The keen neighbour, Owen, drove us there in the end.

  I was nervous as I walked into the crematorium chapel. I felt bad that I had so few people to invite to the funeral. May told me to take out an advert in the local paper. ‘Word gets around,’ is what she said. I think what she was implying was that old people read the obituaries. Another ‘May’ saying.