Short Story:
The following is a full short story from the collection 'Beside the River' by Ben Allan Watkins. Available as an e-book on kindle, it can be purchased for an introductory price if you click on the following links:
Otherwise, please enjoy.
Making up the numbers
The best thing. Max had thought about it for a while, rolling a cigarette on a DVD cover and watching curls of tobacco scatter onto the carpet. Sophie had asked him what the best thing was... what the best thing was for the kids.
Autumn had been overcome by winter; the trees had taken a silver sheen to their bare branches and the grass had grown patchy and brown. The kids going to school had started to wear bigger and bigger coats, taking gloves and scarves without complaint.
Well, he’d done the right thing, for sure. Of course he had.
He fished a plastic lighter from his pocket and thumbed it three times before it lit. Always three times. He felt the flame crawl under his nail, burning his skin tight and smooth, before he tossed it back onto the table and put the cigarette to his lips.
His brother, Tom, didn’t mind the smoke. He had no choice, but he didn’t mind it. He had grown up with it, so it smelt like returning home; like day old roses; like Sunday dinner and sitting around the table listening to his grandfather’s old stories. It had always been around him.
Max watched the smoke drift and drool from his lips. They wouldn’t miss him. It would be a badge of honour and, when they’d grown up, they could blame him for anything they liked. It wouldn’t make any difference to him what they said; out of sight, out of mind.
“You still seeing that girl?” Tom asked.
“I’m seeing her, yeah.”
“Seemed nice enough when I saw her.” Even when they were kids they never had conversations like this; funny what a disaster brings out.
“Yeah, I know,” Max nodded, “but you make hay whilst the sun shines.”
Tom shifted, he didn’t really understand but it seemed to him like he should have. He leaned back, digging his shoulders into a sofa soft as dust, and propped his boots on the coffee table. “You need to like your place more,” he sighed. “You need to treat it right, no-one else will otherwise.”
Max dug his chin into his chest, feeling the three day old stubble. “Yeah, I know.”
“You know?”
“Yeah, but it don’t matter none,” Max sighed. “Still, you can take your boots off the table for a start.”
When he was done Max pulled on a hooded jumper, dusting tobacco off his legs as he stood up into his smoke. He found two socks, whether they matched meant little to him, and an old pair of trainers that were worn through in places.
The staircase that led down from the third floor was narrow, old and in need of paint. The air was thick with mould as they made for the front door, prompting Tom to hold his breath behind his brother’s back. Max fished out his key; “I got some paint cans from Sulley,” he said. “No point waiting for the landlord to get himself in gear.”
His new flat was over a chip shop and they got a glimpse of polished stainless steel surfaces as they passed by the side windows. On the walls, high above the counter, old posters offered pies, local fish, some even hinting at the promise of Chinese food. “We’ll grab something on the way back. I know a good place... better than this and cheaper too.”
“Where are we going, Max?”
Max didn’t look back, he was marching. “Got something to show you.”
“Why am I suddenly filled with a sense of dread?”
“Hey, if I weren’t stupid, then I wouldn’t be nothing.”
Whenever Max caught sight of the signs, the billboards and posters that had sprung up over the past few months, Tom saw him chew it over and over in his mind, his eyes distant and furious. Normally it would mean that he would retreat into his shell, pretending that he was checking his laces or some scuff on his shoes, but today was different.
“Hey, hey...” Max said, stopping quite suddenly in front of his brother, “I’ve got something.” He set a hand on Tom’s shoulder and gave it a friendly squeeze. “I found something the other day. I... I was going through some old boxes, stuff Dad left...” He grinned warmly, forgetting himself and allowing a glimpse of his egg-shell teeth. “Remember when we were kids?” he asked. “Those inter-school competitions? The big sports days...”
“I remember you going,” Tom replied.
“Yeah,” Max nodded. “Found this little medal in one of Dad’s boxes.”
Tom took a look at it, reaching over and letting it sit in his hand. It was light, made of cardboard and coated in gold paint. On the front in black was the number one, big and bold as you like. Tom smiled; so he had finally found the time to pick up his share of the things.
“I got it for sprinting,” Max said. “First time I realised that was what I wanted to do with my life. I was seven then. Seventy-nine it was, I guess, and I couldn’t stop running after that.”
“I didn’t even get anything from the little school sports days,” Tom said. “Every year they tried to find something to give me a medal for. They even introduced tiddlywinks to give me a chance. I think I was the only kid who didn’t win a thing.”
Max laughed, thrusting the medal back into his pocket. “I’m not saying anything.”
Past pastry shops, a furniture shop called ‘Seconds’ and a boarded up catering company, they turned left onto Exleigh road. Wider, with shops crammed tight on either side, it ran straight and long, a rare quality for a road in Ashwater. They passed a sign saying “allotments” that pointed down a narrow path that twisted away into the shadows. The buildings were squat and cramped, seemingly creaking with seaside tat and charity shop donations, and overshadowed by old four story homes a garden’s length from the road.
Tom was already looking forward to getting away again. How long before he said that he had to call the wife? How long before there was a problem with the kids and he had to go home?
“You know how much it’s worth?”
“Your medal?”
“Yeah,” Max smiled.
Tom crossed his arms; he wasn’t quite sure where his brother was going with this. “Nothing.”
“Not a bean, yeah,” Max laughed. “But then no-one’s interested in my sporting achievements.” He pointed up to a house, third from the end, and asked, “You know who lives there?”
Tom squinted; he kind of remembered it from when he was a kid. Had a friend lived there? Or maybe one or two doors over... “No.”
“Helen Layland.”
“Is that meant to mean something?”
“You need to work on your community spirit, Thomas. Get away from the ivory tower and take an interest in those around you.” Max found a low wall and parked himself awkwardly on it. “You never heard of Helen Layland?”
Tom shrugged; the disinterest in his body language was quite deliberate.
“She runs the local swimming clubs, the Otters.” Max said proudly. “Thirty years she has and always voluntarily. Four of her kids have gone on to compete in international tournaments. One was at the Olympics. Don’t know how she did.”
“Shelley Holland?”
“That’s her name,” Max grinned, “well done!”
“So?”
“Again, community spirit.” Max pulled his collar up and dug his hands into his pockets. “She carried the Olympic torch through town. She had a mile with it. Right here.”
“Good for her.”
“It was. You know what they do with the torches?”
“Pass them on?”
“You’d think,” Max replied. “No, they take one home. Everyone who carried the torch took one home.”
“She has one in there?”
“Yep,” Max nodded. “Now ask me how much they’re worth.”
“I figure you’re going to tell me.”
Max smiled, he was enjoying himself. “One sold for over a hundred thousand.”
“Really?”
“People buy any old rubbish on E-bay.”
They sat there a moment, watching the house, before Max stood and un-buttoned his jacket as far as he could bear. Tom watched him: his brother had the same determined look he wore when he was fixing up the old VW van he’d bought, or painting houses for cash, or moving furniture. “I could join the dots for you, but that would just insult your intelligence. So, I’ll just ask this: you gonna help?”
“I’m an office manager,” Tom said helplessly, but he was already standing. He didn’t know why he said yes and, after a few more steps up the path, Tom started to doubt whether he had agreed to it at all. It was daylight, grey and overcast but it was daylight; people were passing by in the street all the time. “I work with insurance…”
The garden was quite long and a little overgrown; grass grew around an over-turned trike and a clay pot that had been split by the roots inside it. The wall was low and uneven, with very little cement left between the stones. It didn’t run straight, instead weaving a little on its way to the house.
Max knocked on the door and took a step back, a breath. Tom always figured that you could learn a lot about a person from their front door; here it was heavy duty and fire retardant with a fresh, but decidedly thin, coat of green paint. So rented accommodation it was.
“Hello, my name is...”
The door was only half open before she asked, “Are you from the TV company?”
“Yes, my name is Ryan and this is my colleague, Tim.” Max said confidently. “We’re looking forward to talking with you…”
“Well, I just want you to fix the thing.”
Max hesitated, “They didn’t really explain the problem when I got the call.”
Shelley was in her early sixties with her silver hair cut short. She was small and lithe, dressed like she was an artist rather than a swimming coach. She wore tinted glasses and a pashmina scarf that Tom guessed to be more expensive than his coat.
“It’s been terrible,” she sighed. “Really it has. As soon as I turned the thing on the picture becomes all blocky and none of the 3D works.”
“We’ll have to take a look,” Max said sagely, before stepping past her.
The TV was already on when they entered the living room but it had fallen into static. Two pairs of 3D glasses lay haphazardly on a battered old sofa and that was about it for furniture. Tom knew Max’s eyes would be saucers for the thousand pound TV but he was more concerned with the state of the remainder of the room.
“Excuse the mess,” Shelley said, suddenly quite self-conscious, but there hardly seemed to be enough in the room to make a mess even if you wanted to.
“Don’t worry at all,” Max replied as he knelt before the set. “It’s a lovely TV, isn’t it? Hard to believe what we all put up with only a few years ago.”
“Yes...”
“Have you managed to get any picture on it?”
“Yes, for a minute or two.”
“We’ll have to have a look behind it...” Max said, twisting the screen to peer amongst the cables that ran down to the floor. He sat up again, and looked back to her before asking, “Is there a chance of a cup of tea at all?”
Once she was gone he grinned, “The motherload!”
“There’s nothing here...”
“The TV, the Olympic torch, her bingo money... ”
“Where?”
“That’s where you come in,” Max replied. “I think it’s time for a little recon on your part.”
Shelley came back hurriedly, muttering apologies that she only had green tea. Tom thanked her, but barely touched his, and Max drank his so quickly he could barely taste it. “So,” she asked, “Is it fixable?”
“Well,” Max replied with his most sincere expression, “We’ll certainly have a try.”
“Please do,” she said. “The kiddies will be awfully disappointed otherwise.”
So they set about the task with a professional-seeming vigour. Before Max could show himself up, Tom asked for a look at the satellite dish and she led him up to the bedroom. The corridors were neat, if a bit sparse, and the room itself consisted of a double bed, a few scattered boxes and a collection of ornaments set out on the carpet.
After a few minutes of hanging out the window and waiting for her to leave him alone, he climbed back inside the room and pronounced that there was nothing wrong with the alignment on the dish. He quickly shut the window, shivering, and walked back downstairs with her.
“Have you just moved in?”
“No, been here years,” she replied and, when she noticed his surprise, she stopped and grabbed his hand. “I know it’s looking a little empty nowadays, but I couldn’t keep all his things after he left. Not when so many of my family have little kiddies and are struggling at the moment.” She smiled softly, but her grip on his hand tightened. “Promise you won’t tell... they’ll all be so cross at everything I sold.”
When Tom returned to the living room, he had to take back his initial opinion; it was obviously quite possible to make a mess in such an empty room. Max had pulled out most of the wires and, for some reason, dismantled the stand the TV had sat on. His brother froze and bit his lip.
“It doesn’t look like it’s going too well there, sonny,” the old lady said. “Looks like we’ll need to put another pot of tea on.”
Max protested otherwise but she scuttled off to the kitchen before he could stop her. As soon as the door shut, Tom had a hold of his brother’s shirt. “What have you done here?”
“I nearly had it at one point.”
“At one point?”
“Well, not now obviously,” Max shrugged. “Now I think I’ve knackered it.”
“What are we doing here?”
The doorbell rang and they heard Shelley sigh and walk back to the corridor.
“Did you find the torch?”
“No sign of it,” Tom replied. “She doesn’t have much of anything up there, to be honest.”
Faintly, Tom was aware that the front door was opening and “hullos” were sounded. “Wait,” he snapped. “Is that the real repair men?”
They turned in time to see the living room door open as Shelley ushered in a mob of children, all shouting and laughing and bumping into each other. No, Tom thought to himself, if anything it was worse.
“We have to go,” Max said quite apologetically, but he was already half past the old lady and his eyes were on the door. She caught him on the sleeve and her grip was surprisingly tough to let slip. “I’ll have to phone it in to get the right tools for the job...”
Shelley paused then, her head tilting a little. “Well, why didn’t you bring anything like that with you when you came?”
“Daddy!”
Aghast and growing paler Max looked down and saw his daughters clinging on to him, one for each leg. “Hey there, poppets,” he managed with what enthusiasm he could muster. “You look happy there.”
“Because Daddy is here!” Kelly exclaimed, before bursting into tears. Beside her, little Jo looked set to go the same way too.
Max swept them up into his arms, “Why are you crying, dear?”
“I’ve missed you Daddy.”
“We’ve missed you,” Jo corrected with an indignant sniff.
The doorbell rang again. Tom spluttered, “What are you running? A cresh?”
Shelley was moving again and nearly out the door when she called back over her shoulder. “Don’t worry, there shouldn’t be any more kiddies for the party...” she said as she disappeared from sight.
“That’ll be the real repair men then,” Tom snapped, glaring at his brother.
“Uncle Tom!”
“We can’t go,” Max whispered. “What can we do?”
Kelly again: “Why are you going?”
“We have sunk really low with this one,” Tom said. “You do realise I’ll lose my job, don’t you?”
The living room door opened again and this time Shelley was followed by a man dressed in tuxedo and carrying a big suitcase. She called out to the children, “Look kiddies, we have a magician!” and Max and Tom knew that escape was getting more difficult with every passing second.
Despite their protestations, the pleas of the children, determined that they should stay for the show, combined with Shelley’s insistence that they finish the job they started and meant that their escape was as good as blocked. Max slumped back into the sofa as his daughters clambered over him, leaving Tom to slink away to the TV set.
Before Max could do anything, other children followed his daughters onto the sofa, swamping the floral material until it looked set to collapse. Every moment seemed to consist of Kelly grabbing at his sleeve and introducing him to a new friend; names like Sarah, Lilley and Ruth blended together in her excitement. When she finally stopped for air, an older girl called Caitlin, playing mother to the little ones, shook his hand like they were concluding a business deal and gave a little shrug as if to say “kids, eh?”
The magician, an old man who hobbled from years of back pain, lifted his hands as high as he could manage and the room exploded with confetti. “Ta da!” he cried and part of Max couldn’t help but be impressed as he tried to forget himself and clap along with the girls.
The show raced through a number of the old classics: coins from ears, flowers from sleeves and toys made to vanish. Through the different tricks it became clear that one of the children, a little boy that Kelly was friends with, was Shelley’s grandson and the party was for him. The magician’s image had no doubt been tarnished when a film about strippers, also called Magic Mike, had come out but, otherwise, he wasn’t so bad. Max had long thought that most magician’s names could easily been misused in such a way.
“And now for a volunteer...” Magic Mike said rather grandly.
“Daddy, go on Daddy!”
The doorbell sounded again and he hoped that Magic Mike was going to try a vanishing act. Shelley was out of the sofa beside him and children flooded over the seat, filling it instantly. “Don’t you worry yourself,” the old lady said. “Enjoy the show!”
Tom was working with the wires, like if he could fix it then he could save himself, but he seemed to just be getting himself in a muddle. He cursed once, but that particular word didn’t seem to be on the children’s radar just yet.
“Come on then, Daddy,” the old magician said.
Max stood and set his girls down where he’d been sitting. He kissed them each on the top of their head before walking to the old man.
The bell sounded again and Max could hear the front door opening over the old carpet.
The magician stepped beside Max and smiled, “Now, boys and girls, does anyone know what joins and links us all together? The bond we all share?” But Max didn’t hear a word; he was listening, straining to hear the mumble of voices at the front door. “It’s numbers.”
The children booed at that and someone cried out “I hate maths.”
The old man smiled, “You shouldn’t though... numbers are everywhere... not just in maths lessons.”
Max could make out the sound of the door closing and footsteps approaching.
The magician turned back to him, smiling broad as ever. “Now these are not playing cards. They simply have numbers on them. White cards and black numbers. This should be easy for you, sir. I just want you to pick a card, any card, and I will tell you the number on it.”
The sound of footsteps and the door-handle turning.
Still life carried on, it kept moving despite the end being near. Max took a card and looked at it.
The door opened and Shelley returned. Behind her, two wiry men followed in blue overalls. “We’ve jus’ come to fix the TV,” one was saying. “We won’t be no bother.”
Max froze, letting the card slip from his fingers. Tom struggled to his feet but he couldn’t run.
Suddenly the room lit up with a flash of white light until the TV settled on the image of a sprinter at the Olympics, the channel blinking in the top right corner. Max looked to his feet and the card stared right back at him: channel 79 and the card read 79 and the year he fell in love with track, 1979.
Shelley crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes. “If these are the gentlemen sent by the TV company, who are you boys?”
Max hesitated, lost a moment, and glanced over to his brother.
“Daddy!” Kelly called out and Max rushed forward to embrace her and her sister together.
“We wanted to pop around and surprise my girls at the party,” he said. “I know there was a muddle but we thought we could help...”
“...And we did,” Tom added, resting a hand on the TV. Despite his best efforts, he had the look of a particularly skittish bomb disposal man.
The engineers checked over the set before they left and the magician finished his show. At the last, as parents started arriving for their kids, Shelley smiled and put her arms around Max and Tom in turn. “Are you away now?”
Max smiled, “I might stick around with my girls until they’re picked up.”
“No problem, as they say. Thank you both for your help,” she said. “You can be sure that you have a friend in Helen Layland.”
“Helen?”
Tom’s eyes narrowed, “You’re not Shelley Holland?”
“No, of course not,” she snapped, “She lives next door.”
