Blue Collar (29 page)

Charley let a smile spread across her face and slipped her hand into mine.

‘That’s a start, Terry. That’s a good start.’

30 One year later…

I nodded cautiously and wondered where this was going. Thoughts of old Stan telling me that this same thing had just happened
to him and could I follow him into the toilet flickered through my brain.

‘He used to be a painter for the council, see, back in the early twenties. Outdoor work, it was mostly; park gates, lamp-posts,
park benches, that sort of thing,’ old Stan said. ‘Well, anyway, one day he was up this ladder doing some guttering or something,
not quite sure, anyway, it’s not important, when the rung he’s standing on breaks right from under him and he falls on to
these railings. Gets speared, he does, right through the belly and the legs and the arms and everything. Gawd, dreadful it
was,’ he elaborated, with a sad shake of the head.

‘Jesus!’ I exclaimed. ‘Did he die?’

‘What? No, but he was really badly injured. Anyway, he… here, hang on a minute; early twenties? How old d’you think I am,
you cheeky git?’

‘Eh? Oh yeah, of course. Sorry about that. Just my maths,’ I apologised.

‘I should think so an’ all,’ old Stan bristled. ‘Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, that was it. So me dad’s all laid up in hospital
and at death’s door for weeks, see. Had the last rites and got measured up for his wooden overcoat and everything, he did,
before he finally pulled through. But even then he was in a terrible state. Legs gone, back gone, could hardly sit to lean,
let alone get up and walk about, so what sort of future did he have?’

‘A bleak one?’ I ventured.

‘You’re not wrong, son. See, it weren’t like it is these days. There weren’t no wages being handed out to people who couldn’t
work back then. If you went to the wall in the twenties, you went to the wall,’ old Stan told me, and Tony the landlord, who’d
wandered over to join Stan’s stagger back down Memory Lane.

‘Didn’t he get no compensation or nothing, then, your old man?’ Tony asked.

‘I was just coming to that,’ old Stan insisted, irked at having his big story rushed. ‘See, a bloke from the union come down
and told me dad that they’d take up his case with the management, see he was paid his due and looked after, right. I mean,
it was the council’s fault after all, weren’t it, what with the ladder breaking and everything, so he told him to sit tight
and concentrate on getting himself better. But above all else, whatever else he did, he weren’t to sign nothing, not without
someone from the union being present,’ he told us, with a knowing nod.

I think I saw where this story was going after old Stan’s twist in the tale practically set off the sprinklers.

‘Sign it all away for a couple of magic beans, did he?’ I guessed.

‘Well, no. I mean, he thought he was doing the right thing at the time, because his governor from the council come down and
told him that they’d love to see him all right, but that they simply didn’t have the wherewithal to pay him a big lump of
compensation. Told him that if they was held to ransom by the union, then they’d have to lay off half a dozen blokes just
to find the money. Well, all them blokes were me dad’s mates and he didn’t want to see ’em out of work on his account, so
him and the governor struck a deal; if me dad waived his right to compensation, he’d have a job for life with the council.’

‘Was that it?’ Tony asked. ‘Nice deal,’ he guffawed.

‘But you’re judging it by today’s standards, Tony, and it’s not the same. Back then, a job for life was like winning the pools.
It meant security, which was unheard of for working men back then, let alone men like me dad who’d been injured and who couldn’t
actually work. I mean, you have to remember that the country was full of blokes who’d been injured in the Great War and who
couldn’t work and there was precious little support for them, so what chance did a painter who’d fallen off his ladder have?
None whatsoever,’ he shrugged. ‘So he signed and gratefully accepted his job for life,’ old Stan told us, though it was clear
from his tone that there was more to his story than this.

‘Go on, then, what happened to him?’ I asked, taking my cue to do so from old Stan’s knowing nod.

‘Well, five weeks later they give him the push. He hadn’t even finished convalescing in the hospital when me grandmother came
and see him and brought him the letter. Some old flannel about legal responsibilities, limitations and liabilities. It was
just a load of double-talk, though, to justify themselves going back on the deal. Me dad said it was the first and only time
he’d ever heard me grandmother swear and it was then that he realised what they’d done to him. But what could he do? He couldn’t
go back to the union because they’d told him not to sign nothing and he couldn’t go to the law courts because his job had
been promised on the strength of a handshake. He was sunk.’

‘He could’ve gone to the papers,’ Tony suggested.

‘What, in a country full of hard-luck stories? This was only seven years after the Somme, remember? Where was the news?

No, that was it, he’d had his chips,’ old Stan said sadly.

‘Stan, is there a moral to this story, because the only one I can make out so far is don’t trust Catford Council and I knew
that already, so I’m assuming there must be more to it than this,’ I double-checked.

‘Well, yeah, there is, because it was in the hospital, during all this, that me dad met me mum. Of course, she wasn’t me mum
at the time, she was just another nurse treating him, but they grew close over the course of his convalescence and they just
sort of fell in love.’

‘A nurse, eh? He’s a sly one, your old man, eh,’ Tony clucked, much to old Stan’s bemusement.

‘Well, yes, quite. Anyway, back then girls didn’t have careers like they have today, not like your Charley, they had families,
so their security depended on them finding themselves a good husband to provide for ’em.’

‘OK, I see what you’re getting at. And your lame old man was a pretty shaky bet,’ I said, filling in the blanks for myself.

‘That he was. And me mum was an attractive girl in her day. She could’ve had her pick of the suitors if she’d wanted to –
doctors, solicitors, bankers, anyone, but over all them she chose me dad.’

‘Funny, my old dear spent the best part of thirty years saying exactly the same thing about my old man,’ Tony told us, ‘usually
while slinging plates about.’

‘Ton’, d’you mind?’ I told him, sensing Stan’s story was running out of legs as it was, without Tony bowling jokes in front
of it all the time. ‘Sorry, Stan, go on.’

‘Well, that’s it really. They got married when me dad got out of the hospital and lived with me grandmother for a couple of
years until me dad got back on his feet. In every sense of the word. It was a rough old time for ’em at the start, but they
made the best of it because they had each other. And that’s how it is for some folks. It’s all about what’s in here,’ old
Stan said, pointing to his heart, ‘not what’s in here.’

He moved his finger down a few inches and for one stupid moment I wondered if he was trying to find his pancreas, before I
realised the bulge in his jacket was his wallet.

‘You got a good ’un there, young Terry. Treat her right,’ he winked, lifting his glass.

‘Yeah, and she’s got a few quid in the bank,’ Ton whistled in agreement. ‘Nice.’

Old Stan looked at me, rolled his eyes and finished off the last of his stout.

‘Want another one, Stan?’ I offered, when he set his glass back down.

‘No, son, let me get you one. You shouldn’t be buying anyone drinks today. Not today,’ he insisted.

Old Stan told Tony to do the honours, reached into his jacket and pulled a shiny new twenty out of his pancreas.

‘Blimey, Stan, you printing it or something?’ Tony asked him.

‘Well, no one ever lets me buy one, do they?’ he explained.

‘So, Stan, what happened to your mum and dad? Did he ever get back to the painting?’ I asked.

‘No, he couldn’t. He was never the same again after his accident, so he taught himself to cut hair. Set himself up as a barber
and eventually opened up a little shop in Lewisham, him and me mum. He did the fellas, she did the women. Shop ain’t there
no more, of course, but they made a good living out of it,’ old Stan said, before a little twinkle entered his eye. ‘And get
this, some years later, his old Catford Council governor came in the shop for a haircut. You know, the one who’d done the
dirty on him all those years earlier. Well, he recognised me dad in the mirror after a few minutes and apologised for what
he’d done. Said he’d had no choice. Some new councillor had come in off the back of a local election and gone through the
books with a fine-tooth comb and a hatchet. It hadn’t been his fault. That sort of thing.’

‘So what did your old man do?’ I asked.

‘Nothing; just give him a short back and sides. But me mum cut his ear off when me dad was cleaning his comb out in the sink,’
old Stan chuckled. ‘Should’ve seen the mess it made.’

‘Gordon Bennett! Didn’t she get done, then, your mum, by the Old Bill, like?’ Tony asked, as he plonked our new drinks down
on the bar.

‘Nah, everyone knew me dad, and what had happened to him, even the local coppers, so they just put it down to an accident
at work – an industrial injury. Well, these things happen all the time, don’t they?’ Old Stan smiled, before sinking into
a fresh half of stout.

‘Oi, you ain’t got time for that. Come on, we’re going to be late,’ a voice behind me nagged.

I turned and caught sight of CT standing at the door, frantically tapping his watch.

‘It’s all right, we’ve still got forty-five minutes. And Charley’s bound to be late anyway. It would be an absolute miracle
if she weren’t,’ I replied. ‘Besides, we can’t go without Jason, but God knows what he’s doing because he went to the bog
twenty minutes ago and no one’s seen him since.’

‘Maybe he fell in,’ Tony smirked.

‘Maybe he’s cleaning it. Somebody oughta,’ old Stan suggested.

Jason emerged a few minutes later, straightening his tie and dabbing his mouth with a paper towel. ‘Sorry about that, chaps,
just a few butterflies,’ he explained.

‘What were you doing, catching ’em for the zoo?’ I asked.

‘Well, it’s all right for you, you’re not the one having to do the big funny speech, which thanks to him is now going to be
in front of a load of TV cameras,’ Jason said, aiming an accusing finger at CT. ‘I’m bloody bricking myself, I am.’

‘Relax, it’ll be fine.’ I smiled. ‘These things have a habit of working out.’

‘Well, they won’t be if we’re late,’ CT insisted. ‘So come on, the car’s waiting.’

‘Oh, all right,’ I relented. ‘Come on, then, let’s get going.

Cheers, Stan. Tony. See you in a couple of weeks’ time.’

‘Yep, see you, son,’ old Stan replied, tipping his glass in my direction. ‘All the best.’

‘Good luck, chaps,’ Tony added, his thumbs to the ceiling.

Luck?

I didn’t need any more luck. I’d already had all the luck in the world and nothing could, or would, ever change that from
this day forth. I’d done my utmost to throw it all away, but when luck’s in your corner, you’re impervious to all idiocy.
Even your own, believe it or not.

Oh yes, luck was something I had in abundance and no mistake. I had it when I woke up in the morning. I had it when I came
home at night. I had it over dinner in the evenings. And I even had it on quiet nights in when I curled up on the sofa to
watch Rocket Man Sauce adverts.

Luck?

I didn’t need any more of the stuff. I’d already had all the luck any thicky bricky could ever hope to find.

In Catford, Canonbury or beyond.