Читать книгу Living Upside Down - John Hickman - Страница 8

MOVING ON…

At work Roger needs to broach the subject of leaving with his boss. He wants to give plenty of extra notice but he is working himself up into a nervous knot about the whole thing. He reasons getting a good reference will be important Down Under. He decides to bounce the idea off his colleague in London.

“Give them too much notice and they’ll sack you,” his London colleague advises. “Try and avoid being sacrificed on the altar of his ambition. He’s a prick.”

“I feel like a damned tomcat waking up to the reality of his neutering,” Roger replies, “Either way shit will happen.”

“You’ve been reading too many bumper stickers, my friend,” came the amiable response.

“They’re entitled to four weeks, Roger. One month’s notice. That’s it.” London’s words echo in his head.

His dreams now have dramatic sound tracks while still searching for Seal Flipper Pie with Boss Man looming over his shoulder as the Anti-Christ.

His horoscope this week advises minimal communication with those who pay lip service to the truth. For Roger, it has never been more than a job at best but it delivers a good, regular income. They desperately need this income. He decides to tread carefully around Boss Man; the added knowledge that he has confided in London is playing on his growing gut knot!

On the morning of his scheduled visit to Boss Man he is awake early. It is still pitch-black outside.

He drives slowly, as if hoping in some juvenile way that he might never arrive at his destination. The radio is on but he hears only white noise preferring the sound of silence. With the heater on full blast, he can feel his eyebrows starting to smoulder. As he approaches his destination, he grips the steering wheel so hard his fingers hurt.

Where the hell is Dr Who and his sonic screwdriver when you need him?

After an agonising ten minutes of turning himself into a mental pretzel, and urinating enough to water a dusty country, he mans up.

Entering Boss Man’s office, he hopes his face will reveal none of his anxiety. Or the fact he desperately now needs to dump a log the size of a small animal.

Roger is not a Yes Man and holds a poor opinion of those who are. He has never played that game of kissing ring fingers, bowing and scraping in order to please. With his debonair attitude, often he would have more chance of selling a drowning man a glass of water than blowing smoke up Boss Man’s arse.

The office bears few of the usual Christmas decorations as Boss Man is humourless. He has lost his lip toupee and gained a few facial lines around his eyes since last they met. His bloodshot eyeballs are swivelling. If he turns his head quickly, they might pop out of their sockets. A long streak of misery, Boss Man is not wearing his normal suit and tie. Roger is quite sure he sleeps in them. Must be his dress down Friday on a Monday, Roger concludes.

He is obviously not intending to call on clients today. Good, at least that means he will be staying away from mine.

Roger has finally decided to damn it all to hell and give plenty of notice, now is the time to formalise his intention.

“I’m tendering two months notice to finish up mid February 1971 as we’re due to leave for Australia in the March,” Roger blurts, “hopefully, that will give you plenty of time to find my replacement?”

Before Roger can draw breath he realises he has just blabbed the whole scenario. Not exactly the best example of tact and diplomacy, he thinks.

Boss Man looks at Roger through fish-cold eyes swimming behind chunky glasses, as if Roger has just announced he is selling burial insurance.

“Two months should suffice, Roger. Any chance of extending if I have trouble replacing you?”

“No, sorry.”

Roger has an unmistakeable urge to reach across the desk and slap Boss Man silly. He almost said, instead mouthed to himself, “Two months notice and you want more, this isn’t Oliver Twist.”

Smiling Roger continues. “Sorry, but our March departure is confirmed.”

Boss Man is grimacing slightly, as if he has just swallowed his cuff link.

After a month of knock backs their decision about Fred seems painfully inevitable. Unfortunately, Dr Doolittle is proven right.

Fingers trailing up her cheek, Sue summarises. “The problem is Fred still being so young, a puppy really.”

“He’s still in the process of being house trained and Bassett Hounds are notorious. No-one wants a free dog, even with a good pedigree, that digs up everything outside, chews the whole kit and caboodle, and still shits and wees inside.”

Sue tucks her hair back from her eyes. “The vet’s advice is Fred will fret in a new home without Jayne and James. He calls it separation anxiety. Maybe we have no choice but to consider his professional advice.”

On the appointed day, Roger takes Fred on his last visit to the veterinary surgery.

Dr Doolittle looks mournfully at Fred and shakes his head, “Such a shame to have to put him down, Roger. I won’t do it right now, it’ll be too hard on you having to watch. I’ll keep him over night out the back in comfort, well fed and I’ll take care of it, later.”

Roger is relieved, the drive down had been heart wrenching enough.

As he pays the bill for euthanizing Fred, the dog looks at him pitifully.

Roger strokes the dog’s nose one last time and departs a little blurry eyed.

On the weekend, they decide to pay Roger’s Grandparents a personal visit; a first since the breakup of the family business. This is not something Roger feels they can do justice by writing a letter. As Gran and Gramps have no phone their visit will indeed be the biggest surprise since Eve ate the apple.

Roger knocks loudly. Nothing. He knocks again and hears almost incoherent voices.

Gran and Gramps are delighted to see them and their great grandchildren on their doorstep despite Gramps being sick with a bad chest.

“Too many smokes and neglect over the years has finally caught up with me,” he announces with a rattle.

In the flat Gran’s crocheted doilies, china figurines, and knickknacks are everywhere.

Sue comments nervously, “Jayne would have a field day if she stayed here.”

Gran is as fat and jolly as ever. She has a habit of sucking on her dentures.

Both Gran and Gramps appear to have aged about ten years in three. They have transitioned from mature-aged to the much less optimistic label of ‘elderly’. Their flat is dated; their furniture has lost its lustre.

None of this matters to Roger because he is blind to their faults. To him they have become historic treasures.

Sue sips some tea from a chipped rose-pattern cup and toys with a biscuit on her plate, while Jayne explores the china figurines and James grunts.

They laugh and joke, and their planned departure to Australia is applauded with so much enthusiasm that Sue and Roger become embarrassed.

Gramps rattles, “If the weather and economy stays like this through summer, half the country will become suicidal, and the other half seriously contemplate it.”

Gran and Gramps hold James and Jayne while reminiscing about Roger.

Gran recalls. “The way your face radiated joy as a baby, you were such a happy child. Unlike your father who was the opposite. You’d lay in your cot all gummy grins and twinkling eyes, podgy arms and legs.”

Gramps closes his friendly eyes and his lips tremble, “I enjoyed holding your tiny hand to the shops and giving you horsey rides around the scullery.” He sighs and looks sad when he tickles James and adds, “Sorry, James, I’m too old. I’m out of horsey rides now.”

“If he gets down on the floor now, we’ll never get him back up again,” Gran reinforces with a pixie grin.

“And when you used to run along the landing but miss the two steps down at the end,” Gran laughs, “your legs just kept going. Like in a cartoon.”

“Priceless,” Gramps adds with a wheezy laugh.

Memories flood back, the old man and his stories of Coco the clown. Roger riding on his back like a jockey around the small kitchen at their flat in Barlby Road.

Unbeknown to all except closest family Gramps is illiterate and he told stories because of this. He remained a guard on the railways because promotion to train driver would be like walking through a minefield with him having to prove his literacy. Even filling out their Pools coupons had been a big step for Gramps struggling to put the crosses in the correct squares.

“Goodness so many memories. I even helped bring you into the world.” Gran pauses and wipes her tired old eyes on a corner of her apron, “I bought him his first typewriter, didn’t I, Roger?”

“Yes, a Remington portable from Whiteleys department store at Bayswater, Gran. It was an expensive gift, thank you.”

Gran continues, “Took him to playgrounds in the Kensington parks when he was only young, and you remember how we cooked all those wonderful fresh mussels, whelks and brown crabs back in our little scullery kitchen?”

“Just so many good things to remember and it all seems now such a long time ago in another lifetime even,” Gramps wheezes.

In this instance “good” is not enough, Roger thinks.

Roger wants to remember them the way they had always been, not old and sickly as they are now. The emotion is filling him from the toes up.

Gramps hugs Roger. Tears are beginning to gather. Gramps’ eyes, are changing from the faded blue of old china to bloodshot but his voice is steady and strong now. “It’s been a privilege to be your Gramps every day of every year since you were born, Son.”

Tears well up in Roger’s eyes with the sorrow of leaving them. He is struggling to recover his emotions that might rob him of speech in his shrinking world.

“Remember, Sue,” Gramps advises, “don’t let fear hold you back, fear is like an invisible dragon. And sometimes you just need to say move aside dragon, you’re blocking my path.”

After a few more tears from Gran and Sue, they leave feeling sad and buoyed up at the same time.

Their ride home is a silent one, each lost in their own grave thoughts. James is sleeping and Jayne is looking out the window, obviously on one of her own adventures.

“My tummy’s doing flip flops, Sue.”

“You’re probably upset after our parting with your grandparents. Do you want to stop somewhere?”

At home, Roger and Sue break open a bottle of money-be-damned Red wine.

On the advice of their newly found friends at Australia House, they decide to leave most electrical appliances behind, the choice made for them by neighbours wanting to buy them at bargain prices. They are adamant, however, about taking their almost brand new state-of-the-art, electric kitchen stove. They are assured this should go, as for some reason cookers or electric ranges are in short supply, in the land of upside down. The lucky appliance is set aside for a sea voyage.

Appropriate forms completed in quadruplicate, personal possessions finalised, they are ready to pack and go.

Roger makes his final visit to Boss Man who throws a faltering smile.

“I’d be pleased if you’d change your mind and stay. Particularly as I’m having trouble finding a suitable replacement for you. There are plenty of applicants but none who want to move to this area.”

The accusatory tone of Boss Man implies that by leaving Roger is a dog turd.

With a half-hearted handshake they part.

At home, sitting as close as possible to their heater, Sue and Roger take stock of their situation.

“The only things left to do is pack and get to Heathrow in time to board our flight,” Roger announces smiling.

The next day their home telephone rattles. It is a call from Mrs Doolittle the veterinary surgeon’s wife. “Do you have papers for Fred?” she asks Sue.

Sue shifts her weight, looks belligerent, and goes into Rhino mode before handing the telephone to Roger. She whispers, “They want Fred’s papers. Can you believe it? A week after he’s, he’s, …. and they call wanting the papers!”

Frowning Roger takes the call. “We have papers somewhere but I’ll have to dig them out.”

Allegedly, Dr Doolittle wants Fred’s papers so he can complete his befuddling paperwork for putting him down.

“I know I’m no sharper than a butter knife, Sue, but I find that very hard to believe.”

Sue sets her teeth. It is as if wisps of steam are curling from her ears.

“With what he charges, I’d expect him to walk on water and have a direct line to pet heaven.”

“Never mind, if there’s the slimmest chance for Fred, that he might go to a loving home instead of getting a sharp green needle…”

“But to have been told the truth and spared the costs of euthanasia, would have been nice.”

“Agreed, I’ll take the papers down tomorrow.”

Roger turns up to the surgery where Mrs Doolittle advises her husband the vet is out on a house call. She takes the papers from Roger, gushing as she does so with admiration of their transatlantic move to the colonies.

Roger leaves feeling confused. He is hoping that pure bred canine Fred has found a more or less legit home with the Doolittle family.