Frank 'n' Stan's bucket list - #1: TT Races - Poignant, uplifting and exceptionally funny!

by J. C. Williams

  Frank smiled. “Probably a good thing, Eric. Otherwise, you’d be up on a manslaughter charge.”

  Frank took his mobile phone and held his thumb over the keypad. He chewed the inside of his cheek and screwed his eyes up, deep in thought. Eric brought him back by appearing beside him and freshening his cup. Frank smiled and placed a single sugar cube into the steaming drink. The cubes were probably only a little more expensive than a sachet, but somehow they always made the tea taste better. Frank struggled to hear as another stream of hungry workmen stomped into the café.

  Frank stuck a finger in his ear as the phone rang. “Yes, hello, Harry? Harry, It’s Frank…”

  “… Yes, I’ve just been with her,” he continued. “No, I’ve not changed my mind.”

  Frank fidgeted with the metal tongs in the sugar bowl as he listened for a moment, and then, “Harry, I want you to start the divorce proceedings.”

  He’d thought about saying that phrase countless times over the years, but now he’d said it, it brought no relief. Saying it aloud made it real, but it was tinged with a sense of defeat — a feeling that something he’d worked on for years was a failure.

  “The doctor?” asked Frank. “The doctor. No, it wasn’t the best news.”

  Frank took a mouthful of the tea, which burned his lips.

  “Harry, I’m not ready to talk about it just yet, to be honest. I’m going to start the treatment, and see how I get on. I don’t want to advertise the fact, and I know I don’t need to tell you, but, there are only a couple of people that know, and I’d prefer to keep it that way.”

  Frank nodded his head until the furrows in his forehead intensified. “Thought about my will? Bloody hell, Harry, you know how to cheer someone up.”

  His face returned to normal, the furrows relaxing and a warm smile appearing.

  “I know, Harry. I’m just pulling your leg. I know you’re only looking out for me, as you’ve done for twenty years. I know I said I didn’t want to make it difficult for her, but, I don’t. I’ve no desire to spend the next few months fighting with her. We should give her an offer that will make her go away quietly…

  “The house?” said Frank. He thought for a moment. “Give her the house, and change the will so that the apartment goes to my loving daughter.”

  Frank listened for a bit.

  “Harry, I know what you’re saying. I know she cheated on me and I could make it difficult, but she’s the mother of my child, one who is going through a challenging phase, but still, she gave me a daughter. I can buy another house. I just want her out of my life. Oh, Harry, one more thing, will you speak with the accountants? I want to cash in some of my investments…

  “How much? I don’t know,” said Frank, chewing his cheek once again. “I’m just going to take some time off work and have a bit of fun. I’m going to work through my bucket list, and from what Stan’s saying, he’s joining me.”

  Frank started to laugh.

  “No, I don’t think we need sun cream and leopard-skin Speedos where we’re going first. We’re going to the Isle of Man. I don’t think it gets that hot there.”

  Chapter Four

  S tan used the well-thumbed copy of the paper — stolen from the waiting room — to waft away the smoke emanating from Stella. He sat back in his cream-leather reclining chair that was stained tobacco yellow, like Stella’s index finger.

  “Is Frank on the grid, yet?” shouted Stan. There was no immediate response, so he wheeled the chair to the small window and repeated his question. “Let me know when you see him!” he shouted.

  “I’ve not seen the lazy bugger all week?” responded Stella in a gruff voice. “Anyway, I thought he was living with you since he binned off that plastic-looking tart.”

  “He is living with me, but he’s been a bit mysterious. Ah. Don’t worry, I’ve just seen his car pull up on the lane.”

  “Ask him if he’s going to grace us with his presence and actually do some work!” commanded Stella.

  Stan had considered telling her about Frank’s current medical issues, but compassion had never been one of Stella’s strongest points.

  “Where have you been?” asked Stan, as Frank made his entrance. “And why are you wearing a tracksuit?” Frank was normally well turned out, so to see him in tacky-looking sportswear was unusual.

  He had a grin on his face as he collapsed into his seat, opposite Stan.

  “I’ve been to a nude life drawing class, and thoroughly enjoyed it,” said Frank proudly.

  “You don’t draw?” said Stan.

  Frank popped the plastic lid of a cardboard roll and removed a piece of A4-sized paper.

  “I know I don’t, but I know people who can. And draw very well, as it would appear.”

  He passed the sheet to Stan, who took his reading glasses from the table. He looked at the paper and then peered over the top at Frank.

  “It’s you, Frank.”

  “I know it is, Stan.”

  “But you’re naked,” said Stan, taking another look.

  “I know I’m naked. You don’t tend to wear clothes at a nude life drawing class.”

  Stan placed his fist up to his mouth and bit the meat between the thumb and forefinger. It was clear he was trying to make sense of this in his mind but was having difficulty.

  “She’s certainly caught my good side,” Frank carried on cheerfully. “Although I think she’s overexaggerated the size of my stomach.”

  Stan cleared his throat. “I’m not sure that’s the only thing she’s been overly generous with.”

  Frank grinned. “I know, it’s impressive. I was worried the room might be a bit cold and I wouldn’t do myself justice, but she must have been impressed with the merchandise because she asked me out for a drink.”

  “Placing that aside,” said Stan. “Why are you stripping off in front of strange women?”

  Frank took the picture from Stan’s hands, which Stan looked only too willing to let go, and carefully rolled it back into its cardboard tube.

  “It’s your fault, actually,” he said. “With this trip to the Isle of Man, you got me thinking about other things I hadn’t done. Hadn’t done, and wanted to.”

  Stan shrugged his shoulders. “Call me old-fashioned,” he said. “But I think a bucket list is supposed to be things like swimming with dolphins, soaring above the Serengeti in a hot air balloon, or snake charming. Not getting your tackle out in front of strangers in an old church hall.”

  “Sometimes you need to set your sights a bit higher,” said Frank.

  “Yes, well, surely this is setting them rather lower?” asked Stan. “I mean—”

  “I milked a cow yesterday,” interrupted Frank.

  “What? Why?”

  “I’ve never done it, that’s why, so I thought, that’s what I’m going to do, so I did.”

  “Yes, but why would you want to—?”

  “Now I can say I’ve milked a cow,” said Frank, well chuffed.

  “Did you enjoy it?” asked Stan.

  “Udderly,” replied Frank.

  Stan groaned. “Tell me you didn’t just…” Stan began, but then caught a glimpse of Stella, who was pushing herself out of her chair.

  “Look, Stella’s coming in. I’ve not told her about your trip to the doctor, so she thinks you’ve been dodging work. You should hide that picture, because if she sees you naked, she’ll want to charm your snake.”

  “Where have you been all week, you lazy shite?” Stella, now stood in the doorway, said without invitation, shouting over to Frank. The filter of her cigarette was stuck to her bottom lip so, when she spoke, it waggled lewdly from the movement of her lips.

  Frank stared at her for a moment. “Stella, you’ve got a half-eaten doughnut stuck to your leg.”

  Stella had a habit of wearing leggings and clothes that were, being kind, not suited to a woman with a figure so… voluminous. She looked down, but had to arch her neck as her stomach obstructed her view. She brushed the sugar off her legging
s and scratched a patch of crusty jam that had been securing the abandoned treat in place before repeating the question once again. You’d be entirely forgiven for thinking she was in charge, the way she chastised Frank for his absence.

  “I’m sorry, Stella,” Frank offered. “I have been a bit slack this week.”

  “It’s not good when the drivers see you two taking the piss,” Stella admonished. “It makes them think they can start to skive. I’m trying to keep them all in line, but when you’re swanning about, doing god knows what, and it’s not good for discipline.”

  “You’re quite right, Stella. And Stan and I appreciate the work you do. Look, I wasn’t going to say anything, but I think I should…” said Frank, looking over at Stan.

  “I’ve been to the doctors, see?” he continued. “And it wasn’t the greatest news, I’m afraid,” he said, nodding his head toward his midriff.

  Stella sucked the life out of the remnants of the cigarette as she scratched her chin. She stubbed out the cigarette into the remains of the doughnut, which was still in her hand. “Ah, I see,” she said sympathetically. “No lead in the old pencil, is it? Softer than a wet biscuit? You wouldn’t have that problem with me, yeah? I’ve never had a man struggle to get the flag up the pole — it’s an art form,” she said, plucking and tugging absently at a segment of her leggings that had retreated too far up into a dark crevasse of no return.

  “Is that why she left you? Fed up of the limpness?”

  Frank took a moment to collect himself.

  “Firstly, Stella. I’m pleased that you’re so accomplished at giving men an erection, but I can assure you that I’ve no problem in getting little Frank to attention when required.”

  “Show me,” she said immediately.

  “What? I’m not bloody showing you that.”

  “We’re friends,” continued Stella. “And if you need me to help you rise to the occasion, you just need to ask.”

  She pushed her elbows toward each other — which further enhanced her already prodigious cleavage — as she slowly gyrated like an Indian belly-dancer.

  “Say the word, Frank and I’ll have you harder than a woodpecker’s lips.”

  Frank took a step back, and found, unfortunately, that he could retreat no further.

  “That’s, well… very kind, Stella. And reassuring. But that’s not the problem, honestly. It’s actually a bit more serious than that. The doctor gave me some news that wasn’t the least bit good, and, well… it’s caused me to take stock of my life…

  “Oh, and another thing. I left her, she didn’t leave me!”

  Stella stared for a hard moment before walking toward Frank. She took his head firmly in her hands and thrust his head into her chest.

  Frank felt himself falling, falling, and wondering when his head’s pillowous descent would come to an end.

  She held him for a lingering, tender moment.

  Frank started to struggle for air.

  She stroked the back of his head, and made reassuring noises like a mother caring for a child.

  “We’re family,” she said. “If you need me for anything, you just ask, and if you’re missing female company, just phone me and if I’m available I’ll be straight over.”

  She was certainly an unusual and often misunderstood woman, but it was clear that her intentions were genuine.

  “I’ll be sure to call, Stella,” said Frank, struggling to catch his breath as he was finally allowed to come up for air.

  “Anything!” she repeated once more, extending her thumb and pinkie finger from her chubby fist, making the shape of a phone, and waggling it against the side of her face, thumb against her ear.

  “Now there’s an offer for you,” said Stan as soon as she was comfortably out of earshot and left the room. “Have you told your family yet?”

  “About Stella’s offer? Don’t be daft. And she’s only just made it besides. And you don’t seriously think…”

  But then Frank understood what Stan was really on about.

  “… Oh. I have. Well. I’ve told Molly — was finally able to tell her — so no doubt her mother will now know as well. She cried, Molly, which surprised me.”

  “Well, she is your daughter, Frank.”

  “I know, but it’s been a long time since she was my little girl, but when she was upset, for a fleeting moment, it was like she was my little girl again. Her mother will no doubt be rubbing her hands at the prospect of me shuffling off my mortal coil, or perhaps I’m doing her a disservice?”

  Stan slapped the newspaper he’d been holding onto down on the desk. “Is that why you’re intent on giving your cash away? Stop her from getting her grubby fingers all over it?”

  Frank was confused until he caught sight of the front page:

  Frank tried to continue with the confused expression. He had felt a bit like Bruce Wayne from Batman, but his alter ego had been uncovered at the first hurdle.

  “How did you know that was me?” he asked.

  Stan smiled. “I didn’t. It was a guess, but sounded like something you’d do in your current state of mind.”

  Frank scoured the paper, making sure his name wasn’t mentioned. “It wasn’t that expensive, it was food vouchers for a couple of hundred people,” he said. “I’ve paid for the next three years. Keep it between me and you, please. Yeah?”

  “Of course. And that’s good of you,” said Stan. “And I cannot wait to hear Helen’s reaction when she knows her divorce settlement is feeding the homeless!”

  Frank gave a wry smile. “I’ll try and capture the moment on my phone. Just for you, anyway,” he said, looking at his watch.

  “Somewhere to be?” asked Stan.

  Frank nodded. “I’ve booked a Jet Ski lesson. On the Mersey. Something I’ve always wanted to do.”

  “That’ll be bloody freezing!” said Stan. “Still, a bit more aspirational than milking a cow. If you like that sort of thing, I suppose,” he continued. “And it’s your arse on the line, not mine, after all, thank goodness for that.”

  Stan chuckled to himself as he picked the newspaper up from Frank’s desk and tucked it up under his arm for a read later on. “I’ll save this for my late-afternoon bowel movement,” he said. “Frank, you ever notice bowel movement sounds like a symphony?” he continued dreamily. “Bowel Movement in A Minor. What do you reckon? Heavy on the horn section, I expect.”

  Frank walked towards the door, but then turned round. “Right, I wouldn’t get too comfy if I was you, Stanley, me old mate,” Frank said, breaking Stan’s reverie. “That lesson I’ve booked is for the two of us, mind you. After all, you’re the one who said he wanted to share my bucket list. So, you’re sharing this!”

  “What? I’m not going into the bloody Mersey River!” replied Stan, laughing nervously. “I’m not a keen swimmer, you know, and it’ll be brass monkeys!”

  “You swim like a dolphin.”

  “They kill dolphins in Japan, you know! I’ve seen it in a documentary!” Stan protested.

  “You’re just worried that the sea will wash off your fake tan,” said Frank. “Come on, get your coat, we’re going jet skiing and that’s the end of it.”

  There was nothing more to be said. Stan grabbed his coat as instructed.

  “Dolphins can sleep with half their brain at a time, did you know that?” Stan added as they walked out the door. “So they’re always alert. They’re very clever animals.”

  And then they were off.

  Chapter Five

  L iverpool City Centre was, as usual, a hive of activity. It was just after midday and a continuous stream of tourists, shoppers, and workers — on their lunch hour — filled the streets like industrious ants. It wasn’t difficult to be anonymous in this sprawling metropolis. For many, the ability to blend in and be just another face was appealing. But there were those who longed to spot a friend in the crowd and have a welcoming, compassionate glance thrown their way.

  Lee Watson was one of those lost souls.

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sp; He sat in an uninspiring doorway that was cloaked with the rancid smell of stale urine but could equally be radiating from his own clothing. His head was bowed at waist height to those passing by and he held a discarded McDonald’s milkshake cup loosely in his hands, shaking it periodically. He’d become accustomed to the looks of contempt thrown in his direction over the months, and found it easier to stare vacantly at the ground below him. The ruthless cold of the winter had fortunately passed and the longer, warmer days were beginning to return.

  He didn’t have friends, but rather acquaintances who were in a similar position to his, with some moving on, perhaps some enjoying a change of fortune or reunited with family. But some, particularly the older ones, had succumbed over the colder months. While he didn’t drink to excess, he could understand those that did; for some, it was the only way to escape the harsh reality of their existence — at least for a short while.

  “Spare change, sir,” he said half-heartedly, to no one in particular.

  Lee had long since given up expecting a response, or money placed in his cup, and once again he wasn’t disappointed.

  He wasn’t stupid. He was personable, and he’d worked for years, so the hardest point to digest about his current situation… was how the hell he’d ended up in this current situation. He had no money in his pocket and no idea where his next meal was coming from. His only possessions were the clothes he wore and a blanket and pillow which he carried in a backpack.

  Of course, he wanted more than this. But the more you had, the more likely you’d be robbed of those possessions. If you accumulated anything, you had to be prepared to fight to retain them, and he was fed up of fighting. He’d seen people prepared to take a life over a bottle of cider or a premium place to sleep out of the cold. There were those that had resigned themselves to this life. But, for most, they were desperate to escape from the sheer hopelessness. Lee was desperate and was struggling to drown out the droning in his head telling him to jump from a tall building. If he had to face the prospect of another winter, especially, he felt he’d most certainly give in to the incessant voice buzzing around in his skull.