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EMMALENA L ELLIS Ginsterpigs

First published by Burton Mayers Books 2022 Copyright 2022 by Emmalena L Ellis All rights reserved No part of this publication may be reproduced stored or transmitted in any form or by any means electronic mechanical photocopying recording scanning or otherwise without written permission from the publisher It is illegal to copy this book post it to a website or distribute it by any other means without permission This novel is entirely a work of fiction The names characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author s imagination Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead events or localities is entirely coincidental Emmalena L Ellis asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work Designations used by companies to distinguish their products are often claimed as trademarks All brand names and product names used in this book and on its cover are trade names service marks trademarks and registered trademarks of their respective owners The publishers and the book are not associated with any product or vendor mentioned in this book None of the companies referenced within the book have endorsed the book Cover Photography Design by Paul Cocken 2012 https www paulcockenpvr com Image edits and website tweaks by Nick Koriagin who dedicated many hours of his time labouring over seemingly endless files and documents to help create the author s website and the final dust jacket The author gives her sincerest thanks and gratitude https www koriaginn com First edition ISBN 978 1 8384845 8 3 This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy Find out more at reedsy com

This book is dedicated to the memories of my grandparents Patrick and Patricia who always inspired me to write from the heart To my dearest mother Louisa who has been my biggest supporter from my first tentative manuscript at the age of 3 to my new chapter To those who brought me cups of laughter and inspiration sweet milk with two sugar teas And thanks to all the selfless members of the NHS who have bravely put themselves on the front line during the Covid 19 pandemic of 2020 2022

Prologue Frank the Ignorant I m sat here drinking a cheap lager with a lesbian from Dover The two of us are sitting on the cobbled wall made of rambling brick that slopes down at a jagged angle beside the flaking green paint of the bus shelter She with a cigarette perched between two tightly pinched fingers held up to overtly red crimson lips I with a bouquet of cheap chips in greasy newspaper which seemed a good idea at the time If I were to try and ask where the lady was headed the current short absentminded bursts of cigarette stream would probably erupt diluting into vulgar terms That much I understand reading between the lines from the tattoo on her upper left shoulder I can glimpse it just at the cap of where the sleeve of her top would be were she not wearing a strapless black mini dress Or if she were not dangling a faux leather jacket with leopard spot lining across her forearm Regardless the tattoo is visible even from the furthest side of the bench as I purposefully distance myself away from her The tattoo is a thick black ink capital letter inscription which is simple unpoetic and to the point BITE ME The air is crisp the chips soggy Wanker Her words come across as a shock Shattering my delirium and a fair few of the chips as if whip lashed from the oral spray now emanating In my panic they drop neglected onto the floor Instinctively I turn towards her as if to confront this abuse albeit silently 1

GINSTERPIGS I am mulling over the moment in my mind It is safer that way Wanker But you haven t even met me yet While indeed I know I m not perfect you don t even know me God I m sweating and that damn twitch is back again The one behind my left ear Fool That would have been more apt had her comment been aimed at me at all Madam is not even talking to me and as I scratch the hairs along my eardrum in embarrassment her short snipped tone verbalises rapidly into her mobile phone The device in question is a metallic red thing that matches her choice of accessories A hefty red handbag and ruby painted nails Her phone barely conceals what appears to be a wart or more likely neglected makeup on her cheek Nor does it conceal the vicious puffing of her cigarette She holds both things to her mouth at increasingly short intervals as she vents and screams into it In the meantime she has hunched up her jacket so that it is hastily slung over her arm and it hangs like a noose against her humerus leaving her free to multitask more efficiently There s something almost comical about these situations The way she s talking no screeching down the line suggests that if she weren t a lesbian before now she soon would be perhaps swearing off men for good after this conversation Not that I truly know what is being reciprocated on the other side Logically I suppose of course from my limited understanding of the call the recipient of said conversation has either been drowned out or obstinately deafened by her continuous outburst Her frustration building she starts swinging her handbag It s a large bulging thing with crocodile style patterning I don t think I ve ever seen a red crocodile Perhaps they re found in America somewhere I ve never been The bag darts about in continuously wide circles that narrowly manage to miss the shelter wall 2

PROLOGUE FRANK THE IGNORANT Then the lady stops momentarily calm as she heaves in frustration before yelling PIG If I had a girlfriend the first thing I d possibly tell her is that the term pig does nothing It only boosts male self esteem Pigs are an intelligent species at least guinea pigs are But then I m obsessed with many things guinea pigs being one of them Perhaps that s why I m single that s what my sister tells me Still I m okay with that I have always preferred people watching dependent on the company but this woman she frightens me Self consciously my mind begins to fog away from her I choose to let the words become indistinct and whilst I can watch her lips form each term should I choose in this instance I no longer have the desire or patience to listen I take up the lager once more It has been resting on the wall a nice clean slab relatively speaking I have kept it away from the moss and smouldering pile of cigarette butts and chips at my feet I m surrounded by rubbish continuously blown up from the road to the bricks by the rush of cars that come with the daily traffic My companion still brandishes her bag here and there hunching her coat further up her forearm to avoid it slipping onto the floor I suppose it is too warm to wear As for me I begin to feel the onset of pins and needles shooting up my leg and the uncomfortable feeling of the sharp pricks of stone in the wall Almost as though I instinctively know I am being watched I turn back again Sure enough the lady s noticed me and she s rounding on me with scrunched up frustrated eyes Fan bloody tastic Is the bus not comin Of course it is I hear myself reply shuffling further away from her It always comes it s Tuesday so it will come It always comes Tuesdays My words as always were somewhat clumsy and disorganised the reproduction of a hazy sunny day and a weekday afternoon So here we are the flat lager the lesbian the empty wrapper paper from 3

GINSTERPIGS the chippy the greasy after smell of fried chips Dover is 5 miles north This is my life 4

Chapter 1 Bus Ride Slumbers M y name is Frank Samuel Davis I live in Cocklescanslanky Kent a small isolated place which very few people talk about and even fewer ask The town s population is mainly the odd thirty and fifty year old fogies Then there are the cluster of kids and their tired worn out tracksuit bottomed mothers and the socialites who flock around the coast with their sunflower strewn hats with plastic palm footed lawns and me Cocklescanslanky a town which the BBC once recalled albeit fleetingly in a documentary as an indispensable part of Kent which crawls out of Britain s rich garden unseen and insignificant Whatever that means Still it was deemed impressive enough for the town council They quickly pasted the phrase on the town s advertisements and billboards before in time recovered in overtly shiny glue and metaphorical journalist s whitewash Statements like this were notably grand and overstated in the kind of way that they would make someone influential sit up and notice if indeed they chose to come this way they never did Cocklescanslanky my mother could never stand the place Soon after my little sister turned 12 and I was 15 Mum insisted that my father vacate his job and move the family to Dover Schools were better there she argued and there was more choice in the shops Despite all this it wasn t an immediate concern to my sister and me Back then our thoughts were somewhat more simplistic Childlike Why should we care how many clothes were in our mother s wardrobe when ours were filled with hand me downs from our extended family and budgeted charity 5

GINSTERPIGS shop finds Or how such situations made us appear to other members of dignified society Our attention was moot otherwise distracted as our eyes flicked back and forth from their discussion to the television with disinterest All the while my lips were glued shut with liquorice and gobstoppers Dad said nothing in those days merely peering at her from the paper neatly folded open over his knee occasionally grunting in disinterest Jack Davis would not bore his children with politics he told her After all I was supposed to be thinking about girls teenage issues cartoons and video games At that time and to a lesser extent now there were two girls in my life One was the prettiest girl on the planet and my first love She had brown eyes and black and white tresses of hair in a slight wispy parting In contrast the second girl was quite plain She had a fringe that was drab and ordinary almost mousy The first girl was called Mol she was three years old my first guinea pig The other That was Hanny my sister At 45 I wasn t bad looking certainly not evil I had a bulging oblong of a face which was slightly squat at the corners perhaps they thought I might grow into it later Greyish eyes framed by my round cheaply produced prescription glasses and a gradual receding hairline of strait laced schoolboy brown hair I had no particular build I had never been good at sports but my clothes fitted where they touched Clothing wise I favoured day in and day out the same faded grey anorak with a matching jumper which was currently lightweight for the summer I offset this with a pair of brown corduroy trousers with shoes to match and a slightly off colour white shirt a habit I suppose I picked up from work and a sort of eggplant one at the back of the wardrobe which I saved for when I went out on special occasions Not that today was not going to be one of them My childhood was quiet in my way not academically studious but I enjoyed reading and observing world affairs through my various notations in notebooks My favourite hobby was of course sitting by the edge of Mol s cage in quiet conversation and following the routes of buses using an ordinance survey I had found at the back of my grandfather s desk 6

CHAPTER 1 BUS RIDE SLUMBERS As I grew older my mother guilt ridden however momentarily had once more set me up with a few blind dates She had previously neglected my sister and me in favour of her geraniums Although of course this was merely another of her short lived aurora cleansing Mum was determined if blind sided when it came to pairing me off with girls She had a habit of picking those dressed up to the nines though they all seemed to be lacking the mindset I wanted She seemed drawn to those with supposedly perfect model looks and slender forms All of them were so skinny I sometimes imagined that they might snap like pretzel sticks Trouble was these were the sort of girls that Mum hoped would produce only pretty grandchildren like her side of the family or so she said But they were also the type of girls that Dad had occasionally pointed out to Hanny on the television and told her that was perfection but only when he thought he was out of earshot of my rather argumentative two faced mother I can only suppose she is the one he had settled with for convenience sake or perhaps to avoid a headache at the time Now aged 75 with fewer pipes and higher cholesterol Television remains for him as it did then a necessary form of entertainment and escapism from her enforced domestication I prefer buses and guinea pigs Bus spotting is an art Others might say it is less refined than train spotting But when it comes to transport buses alone give me that trembling satisfaction Watching the vehicle s cushions deflate one by one as the bus pulls to a stop it s almost as if they are mattresses protecting their cold painted metallic structure from the black concrete slabs of pavement and muddy B Roads A safety net in a bleak uneventful world Take the Alexander Dennis Enviro 200 which is as ever an impressive beast even with its previous iteration of the TransBus Enviro 200 Whenever it braked it would envelop the pathways with a steamy like belch like a group of drunks in a choir The doors always judder open emitting yet another 7

GINSTERPIGS repeated mechanical sigh swinging and hitting the stops in an asthmatic fashion Thus when the number 35 came to a stop beside the crumbling shack of the bus shelter I inhaled in much the same way a smoker might long and deep I was subconsciously letting the smell of faintly burning rubber and diesel flood through my fuel sensitive nostrils With each gust of air it makes me wonder and sometimes worry if the old wreck has met its final stop a retiree in his prime choosing never to move again Thankfully she continues to both my delight and relief In my strange nonsensical way I marvel at this bus of blue and mushroom accents its moniker reading DONALD S and the miles travelled to get here I m somewhat fascinated by the routes on the sides of the bus signs tracing the thin grey line with multicoloured squiggles thinking about the delays the passengers and of course the driver This driver was irritable He had one of those babyish faces about him it was all puffed up and red inflated like a balloon It must be one of those days I suppose There was a badge pinned on his shirt that would have read his name but I have decided given his mood not to look It s one of those things you don t or at least pretend not to notice It s like a code a secret ritual he was just The Driver In my youth I had proudly known all the drivers names Although this young fresh faced man seemed relatively new to the process I made a mental note to look it up later on the DONALD S website There I could update my notes accordingly It pays to have updated records As for the rest I imagine his mood was down to his coffee Coffee will make anyone miserable especially on a Tuesday at 3 30 in the afternoon Thankfully I felt refreshed the beer was still lining my stomach and the little digitalised clock above the mirror blinked in red numerals noon unchanged and disconnected like the town from the rest of the world and civilisation Miss fan bloody tastic glared at me perhaps mistaking me for the mysterious former recipient of her phone call Because although she had 8

CHAPTER 1 BUS RIDE SLUMBERS initially gone on ahead she slightly bustled in her walk with self importance although madam somehow seemed to lack it once she boarded the bus I watched as she played for time by stuffing the smouldering remnants of her cigarette into the flaking trough at the side of what I presume might have become a bin It might have at one time contained advertising brochures fledglings of dying tourism But it seemed the billboards were proving an unsuccessful venture for the council after all So I proceeded towards the glass partition Unlike my companion I did not want to delay the journey further As always I remembered the well ingrained well versed routine of boarding a bus It s something I have done many times before After a simple exchange of nods between the driver and me I now sat comfortably I had positioned myself in the middle of the bus and slipped the bus pass back into my wallet In contrast however she continued to stall I watched as the lady remained rooted in her former position as her face pressed close to the glass separator glowering she was determined to gain her exact change from a fiver All the while the silver key in the ignition knew my secret It too wanted to travel grunting impatiently at the lady s negligence as she stormed past the driver and was finally aboard Doing a quick count I surmised about three no seven of us if you included the driver who had embarked today Still her ladyship had decided on the front of the bus squishing past an uncomfortable looking square faced man who coughed timidly The other occupant who was standing in the bay area was a mother pushing a pram whose pale arms were filled with fading red welts from her large overstuffed plastic shopping bags she had drooped towards the floor On the pram she had rested a cake tin unknown to the sleeping occupant within Back and forth she pushed the buggy in small measured rocks with her left hand as her right remained gripping onto an impatient toddler with a few spare tingling fingers You may be wondering why I chose the middle of the bus You will question this and perhaps think that a bus spotter like myself would surely wish for the front of the bus After all as I had just explained the bus was not busy 9

GINSTERPIGS Rooky mistake I ll help you by observing the art of seating Should you choose to sit in the front of the bus you ll always be unable to obtain an accurate view of all of the occupants within As such one might miss some key fragment of character something I pride myself in finding sourcing out unique specimens which in idle hours I notate later in a small leather notebook kept in my side pocket I advise against the back of the bus because this end prevents ease of travel You are both squished and prodded by an array of arms shoulders and God help me legs belonging to somewhat glue faced teens Their bodies will be pressing and heaving in lustful bouts of Adrenalin and raging hormones So quite naturally the middle is my preference In the middle one might have a good view of passengers and landscape and there is a comforting motion as the bus ascends or descends across the roads and cliffs of Dover I had been dozing half closing my eyes lulled by the equilibrium of bus hum My now muted former companion after a silent reproach from the worn out mother s glare had returned her phone to her ruby waxy handbag giving us all a temporal revive from her sharp acidic tone We were going slowly but not unbearably so The driver had unwound his window and a gentle breeze wafted over my sticky brow I smiled softly to myself in quiet satisfaction Outside a white Peugeot whimpered in protest as the bus swept past it letting the icy unfeeling box shaped vehicle get a repainting in a thin layer of mud Karma perhaps for being in the way or on the road I was happy Yet it seemed I was doomed to be rudely awoken Naively upon boarding I had believed I had built some form of rapport with my fellow travellers and yet now the silence was broken by the shrill piercing interjection of the now hysterical toddler The child must have sensed my frustration as my eyes opened because his face turned to me before he began crying again Sudden sharp foghorn like sounds began erupting from his tiny lungs One day perhaps I ll experiment with how this commotion could be achieved If that is I ever manage to find a specimen ready to scream at me without the mother frantically searching for her mobile to call the police Seemingly to remove the madman from 10

CHAPTER 1 BUS RIDE SLUMBERS being near her precious child However it is probably the mother who would be traumatised After all wouldn t she rather the child be silent than draw attention to her nervous disposition and her ever growing desire to disappear at that precise moment As on cue the mother s face crumbled She began vainly attempting to quell the child Willy you ll wake the baby She bemoaned and awkwardly hunched to his level on the ground as best she could As she did I watched as all the shopping bags dropped to the floor like bars of lead piping Her gaze was intense and almost squirrel like as she began subconsciously looking over her shoulder anxiously aware of everyone else before returning her gaze to her child again Willy please people are starting to stare Isn t it ironic She can square off another woman with a dark look but she cannot confront her offspring Perhaps it is because she worries she s too harsh or maybe too soft Or is it the fact that no matter what she does people will talk at least in her mind With such pressure she cannot understand whether she has failed and whether it is through her duty of motherhood or to be a part of what is deemed acceptable in society The boy however doesn t seem to care Oblivious to her inner turmoil and battle with her insecurities his wails ascend into a medley of sobs He feels sick he feels hungry He is starved of attention Perhaps particularly resentful of this luxury his presumably newborn sibling receives over him Or it is because he must stand on the bus like a big boy The pram takes up the seat space along with his mother The toddler would have been unwittingly ignored throughout the day while the baby is fussed and cooed at by his mother s fawning friends and relatives I have to deal with people like this all the time I work in a how can I help you today customer care call centre Day in day out Monday to Friday sometimes Saturday never Sunday There is nothing more confining than those four by four square walls of box cubical and desk where I sit with computer and phone with a pointless pin badge on my chest declaring to an absent audience My Name is Frank I don t understand the badge Why do you even need one When your only form of contact except for a brief lunch break or occasion team building 11

GINSTERPIGS meetings is with faceless individuals on the phone Even so I am stuck with the badge with little else to do At several points in my day I have found myself attempting to extract it from my shirt only to be repeatedly stabbed by the thin needle like pin at different distantly tender spots on my thumb Now though I was going home My mother had demanded in her overbearing and obvious way that she wanted us back for her birthday I stress the word home since I had long ago fled the house Keen to place a sage green sofa in some ex council flat that my late grandmother had left me in her will I could already taste the sickly sweet supermarket bought and off brand birthday cake with the fluorescent iced lettering that she always insisted she had made It always tasted of nothing except a washing up sponge The problem is I dislike family birthdays almost immensely There is always a fake charm Overall procedure dictates your smile throughout your forced attendance Usually unwillingly with the biggest and the best present compared to your family and peers And yet come your birthday all you will receive likely is a tatty moth eaten hastily written greetings card and a pair of socks I had chosen to attend early if only to appease her wrath from my usual paltry offerings and find a somewhat adequate gift I saw the old still familiar comforting roofs of the houses and shops of my boyhood as the bus hauled itself with effort round the cliff faced landscape The bus was old now one of only three left in the town Nevertheless it rode well and braved the oncoming drizzle and sea breeze and the whimpers of the now stalling child He had grown sleepy himself against the crook of his mother s arm and overhanging raincoat The brakes squealed and hissed as the bus stopped on the corner of the curb I dismounted before it swiftly withdrew towards the town centre Departing with a slight snort of disapproval the bus left disgruntled that I would leave it so soon Instead karma reproached me as I ran to cross the road stepping prematurely from the raised kerb only to be splashed by the passing cars including 12

CHAPTER 1 BUS RIDE SLUMBERS the aforesaid white Peugeot 13

Chapter 2 A Bazil Most Faulty T he bell of an antique shop always sounds refined It chimes like an old Grandfather s clock as I enter under the gap of the frayed awning to the door The sound lacks the artificial buzz observed in other boutique shops or the sharp intake of breath and shunting that often occurs with impersonal automatic doors There is however the doomed smell of wet dog Musk permeates my snout throwing my mind back to previous visits I am somewhat aware of how my body odour and the contribution of my damp jacket from the rain and shoes only made more of the scent The building is itself dull horrid and airless If I were impolite I might gag or leave the shop altogether But I have come here with a purpose a purpose that dictates both decorum and restraint looking for a birthday present for Mother Somehow oblivious to the smell is the old master who runs the store It is a term that seems to fit the small balding ageing man with a tuft of a colonial moustache He chooses a cologne that matches everything else in his shop that s been dead or left unmoved for years His eyes appear closed or so tightly squinted together that I often wonder how he can see me so clearly How can he move with such energy especially for a man who would have since chosen to retire in other professions Yet in an instant here he was in front of me and grasping my hand a token gesture of old formality he does with all his customers at least or so he s told me the one s he likes Young Davis he says smiling Back so soon Yes sir I nod nervously privately acknowledging to myself that it is not 14

CHAPTER 2 A BAZIL MOST FAULTY soon at all Nevertheless I keep this thought to myself it always pays to be polite Bazil Weatherspoon was a veteran of The Kings Own Lancers An impressive legacy on paper for a man that had boasted of seeing a fair share of action in 15 years However the reality much like his shop was far less glamorous A few years back a segment on the History Channel detailed the squad in question I hadn t planned to watch it as I was not so interested in history but the programme seemed to reflect on an anniversary or other relating to one of the many world wars One fellow officer named the squadrons sole responsibility had been to guard an empty shed on Salisbury Plain But Bazil was not one for facts Bazil s narrative was that he had arrived in Dover after being accused of cowardice He had chosen to run away somewhere only pussyfooting failures hide to what he billed as his Uncle s second hand store Still such a claim could never be successfully verified or even disputed locally As far as anyone knew the shop had always existed It was as long as anyone could remember They also said the same of the somewhat withering yet sharply imposing dominance of Bazil It was a claim that was passed down like legend by the second oldest man in the town Second to Bazil himself Despite his rather strange disposition two things seemingly only two things riled Bazil s character Tourists and spelling The latter was understandable since he prided himself on his name as the unique choice of a dyslexic mother the former was most odd While the other shops in the area being a relatively small town were most keen to welcome the non natives Bazil would become infuriated with them On the door of his shop alongside the plaque containing his Uncle s name J B Weatherspoon s Antique Emporium Bazil decorated the sides with pieces of wooden planking upon other wooden boards sign upon sign Each detailing his threat THIS BUILDING IS NOT A FREE HOUSE All Prices Final Before another sign in even more hostile letters STOP ASKING FOR A PINT Thankfully since I was an ally one of the natives Bazil did not gather anything from his growing artillery 15

GINSTERPIGS He had a well stocked collection of pistols and shotguns that he kept in an easily accessible netted mesh against the ceiling which he insisted were for security I recalled the time when questioned once by my overly sceptical mother An attitude that much like his appearance remained much the same At the time Hanny and I were younger and we peered down over an oddly shaped arrangement of bottles and vases trying to see if we could spot any spiders Despite the bravado which was mostly for show somehow we felt safe Bazil had affirmed this when he replied Not worth shooting them got enough taxidermy at the back Thus he had gestured with an almost grandfatherly twinkle in his eye suggesting that we should come and look for ourselves Here beyond the sweeping of the back curtain which was caught in the slightly humid 1980 s breeze I glimpsed within what us children believed could be the hints of exotic intrigue and magic But the moment wouldn t last I would soon be pulled sharply on the arm along with my sister My mother whose taste sated bustled us out of the shop and out of trouble so we might hurry along to visit my Aunt Bess I had been many more times to the shop since that day as I grew up but never again did I witness the golden nuggets of distant lands Since then the mysteries and antiques had been gradually overwhelmed by cheaper charity shop memorabilia A jumble sale that others failed to donate or sell Such was a sign of the times and as Bazil put it blooming budget cuts On this occasion Bazil preferred to return to his shabby rickety stool by the counter in the corner From here he maintained constant vigilance over his only recently discarded tankard and a self matched game of drafts Nevertheless it s always been impossible to know whether Bazil was winning or losing Both he and the game pieces had remained untouched save for the odd grunts and mutterings when he had decided on his supposed line of strategy Bazil s sales technique had resulted in the odd purchase of a dozen or so brazen figurines of Lindt confectionery Ones he had left in a spider s web before he extracted them from the furnaces of Luxor There was also a box 16

CHAPTER 2 A BAZIL MOST FAULTY of old modelling paints muddled together with makeup These he so told me Belonged to the Great wives of Rome themselves To this day Bazil would encourage his visitors with long winded but incredibly detailed tales of their questionable origins finishing only with the words The customer is always right I passed the shelves of tackily assembled macaroni cheese cards Ones that had no doubt been a salvaged school display by the local 3 11 year old s at St Thomas and Martin s Parish Academy I had been made aware of these on a previous visit so I paid little notice to my surroundings until I came to a slight upward ramp leading to the larger back end room Hither the shelves grew larger long winding rows of oddities A legless jack in the box a disfigured crystal a green felt rag that had been fused onto tuppence for appearance sake Here was my stop Sat at the foot of one of these racks I stumbled against a wooden frame containing a hastily drawn sketch of a vase of flowers They were large gold bold and tasteless The kind of thing my mother likes Not quite a Picasso van Gogh or equivalent She is after all a relatively simple person to cater for Her attention is usually as sharp as a toothpick unless someone or something provokes her Not to say I was any means of an expert on the matter either and I did not expect to find one in the emporium So I placed it down to see what else I could find barely registering the moth eaten selection of vintage bed linens when the geriatric but ever attentive man had returned to my side He was appraising both the supposed find and his potential customer keen as ever for a sale I could not blame him of course Visiting J B Weatherspoon s had been a last minute last resort despairing decision Whilst I didn t mind popping in on occasion to see him and his wares I usually tried to find my mother something quickly wherever possible whatever the event or the experience might be Such opportunities made it seem as though I had been able to present the best possible gift Detailing some thought and care might go into choosing something rather than the frantic dash I almost always fell into 17

GINSTERPIGS Today however only Bazil could save me It was also the timing of a match day for our seldom victorious local football team Unfortunately such an event usually meant that at least a cluster of the already slim pickings of boutiques and gift shops in the area were closed Their curtains flickering with the faint light of a television screen and the audible groans as yet again the Cockleside Rovers failed to score We hadn t made championship or regional level in years Still team pride was pride and I hoped that should I manage to make my getaway from the farce of it all Maybe for a moment I might join the fans in solidarity as they drown the dregs of their sorrows in a pint of Guinness at the pub The painting genuine or not would have to do Now Bazil was hovering his hands stroking the faded walnut frame with intense interest You would like to know more Mr Davis he asked his voice displaying an almost operatic wobble all the while I didn t even bother to nod knowing full well that Bazil would begin to detail the piece s origins to me no matter what I said or did From what I understand of it though the canvas was sketched on in 1902 designed in a collection of oils and wax pastels by a young village girl named Suzie for an art competition though Bazil couldn t recollect entirely whether she had won Though her art had made all the papers local ones anyway As ever keen to validate his point Bazil began rummaging around in a box nearby filled with what I could only guess were some local newspaper clippings mumbling to himself all the while It s no doubt he said waving his arm here and there with a theatrical flourish This is a real find Mr Davis a real find Perhaps it was the slight scepticism I had inherited from my parents but precaution and common sense quickly occupied my mind The price wasn t steep and mother would be happy though it would still be a good idea to check if his intentions were honourable I m not one to get had Sometimes you have to sell an item to me exactly as it is That is without any embellished bells or whistles For me a banana is a banana a guinea pig is a guinea pig The use of wrapping paper is an accessory whereas bubble wrap is a must Bazil continued all the while Noting my stance he asked the dreaded 18

CHAPTER 2 A BAZIL MOST FAULTY question of one who knew me seemingly so well For your mother I presume In the absence of any perceived objections Bazil had taken away the picture He was oblivious to my hedged attempts to browse the rest of the store His hands toyed with the painting on the counter casually rearranging its place several times The trouble was he never truly allowed me to look again save for the occasional teasingly flashes of the picture from different angles as he twisted and turned it this way and that No doubt worried I might change my mind After he walked to the register just as quickly having decided that this was my item Yes she should like this He smiled a broad slightly toothless smile Measuring the painting against a bag he ushered me to follow him while continuing the conversation with himself Of course you would like it wrapped I had not quite settled myself with an answer when the store s phone rang This event somewhat broke Bazil out of his routine and his face fell grunting impatiently Quickly he excused himself running to another concealed door in the shop This personal office he kept locked with a simple old army sign captioned with his familiar lettering Albeit it had been written with more pride and care THE TANK I was now alone on the public side of the shop with a half packaged painting leaning against the till I thought carefully looking once more to the picture noticing now that the entire painting was upside down the frame tinged with lacquer no doubt to save it from rot and woodworm Mum would indeed like it She was going through a mass artistic phase not to paint but as a pursuer and critique of the subject matter Dad had humoured her by presenting her a box of replica prints the previous year wherein she had seemingly developed taste A subject on which Hanny and I remained on the fence Personally I wasn t very design savvy As it was I preferred to buy presents or treats for Mol Guinea pigs 19

GINSTERPIGS are rarely ungrateful as a species I only ever acknowledged gratitude and happiness as I gazed into the sweet jet black eyes of my little companion Mol would scurry up the walls of her cage to greet me with a happy squeak She often joined me in one of many meals together whether it be takeaway scraps which we shared when vegetarian or my ready meal kits for one bingeing together in front of the television at night Such sensations were always a sharp contrast to Mother s praise She usually overlooked positives by choosing carefully selected and often petty flaws she noticed about my character There was a hole in my jumper I had still to fix I was not eating correctly or I was eating too much or too little I needed to get a girlfriend I needed to find a better job The list went on I took the time in Bazil s absence to evaluate the birthday card I had picked up earlier based on my sister s suggestions and prompts It was a simple one Pink Mum s favourite colour with splashes of glitter and ribbons in a somewhat pretentious design with a poem inside A saving grace for people like me who never quite had the words to say Not that Mum would notice anyway It was best to scribble in our names at the bottom of the card Hanny and I simulated Mum s impersonal tone that she wrote in all personal correspondence from herself and my father From Maureen and Jack which was followed by a single X kiss Please don t mistake this as Mum not loving us which she did in her way but she was continually chasing dreams of a better lifestyle and hobbies She had always aspired to be more than your average housewife and start a musical career Her idols when we were small were Cilla Black and Engelbert Humperdinck Then when she realised such a reference aged her she switched her sources to a more modern artiste quoting Madonna or Prince The problem was Mum couldn t hold a note and Dad always needed his pants ironing both before and after retirement She was stuck in a marital rut and bitter Taking a ballpoint pen from my pocket I pressed down on the card and envelope slowly but gently scrawling out my name so that it might vaguely 20

CHAPTER 2 A BAZIL MOST FAULTY resemble the word Frank without coating my hand in glitter I had just slid both hastily into my coat feeling like a cheeky schoolboy when Bazil returned with his usual wheezing and coughing smoke permeating the already dusty room from a neglected cigar Readily he assumed the role of the shopkeeper and I watched somewhat fascinated as he began wrapping the painting with wads of thick greaseproof brown paper over a bubble wrapped shell which was topped with celebratory golden ribbon His elderly fingers danced and spun elegant bows into the fabric no doubt practising some precision and skill he insisted he had gained during the war When his task was completed to Bazil s satisfaction I withdrew the last crumpled twenty pound note from my wallet and passed it to him As always the money barely remained in my palm Moments after I extracted it it effortlessly drifted into the cash drawer thus exchanged for two solitary pence change for the car park each coin had become antiquated themselves covered in a layer of evident grime I gave another nod to Bazil and took my packaged painting which rested snugly in the crook of my left arm as I made my exit Heading out through the all too narrow door and back into the crisp summer breeze I was somewhat relieved as the air returned to my lungs Now I was heading back to the sloping hill that led me back out of town I was genuinely grateful for the slight reprieve before what would yet again become an all too long a day birthday lunch with mother 21