Pav stared at the piece of paper for ages. I gave him some space and didn’t peer over his shoulder during his thinking time. He was muttering stuff in his own lingo. Thinking words. I was standing at one end of the shed. Pav was at the other, struggling with the contents of the paper.
‘Do you want me to go over it one more time, Pav?’ I said.
‘No, I have answer.’ He came towards me, showed me the paper and pointed to where the apostrophes should go. ‘You put here and here.’
‘This one’s right, Pav. This one’s wrong,’ I said. I gave him a tick. I didn’t give him a red pen ‘X’ in case it psychologically damaged his confidence. ‘That’s not bad, Pav. Fifty per cent, that’s good.’
The lessons would need to be of high intensity before school started. If we only knew when that would be. I’d heard that part of the building had been hit, but we didn’t know what to believe. We didn’t venture that far to find out – there was still no phone signal. Although I did bump into Norman in the street and he gave me the utterly fantastic news: Erin F was alive and kicking; apparently Norman had been given the task of taking vital medicine to her mother’s house. Who gave him the medicine? I didn’t ask. But I had my ideas. I didn’t care. Erin F was ALIVE.
Food shortages and troops clamouring about our streets I could just about swallow, but having my school closed was a total head-wrecker.
It was hard to get any quality work done standing up. Still no sign of The Big Man. Something told me that Pav’s mind wasn’t up to studying anyway. The whole bombing and thug thing had hurt him, dented his mind. A sadness had returned to his baby blue blinders again.
‘Sure you don’t want to go over it just one more time, Pav?’
‘My brain is fook melt, Charlie,’ Pav said.
‘Are you OK? Is everything OK?’
‘Little Town hating us so no OK.’
‘They don’t, Pav.’
‘We not bomb Little Town. Bastard from Old Country did bomb. Not us Duda.’
‘I know that, Pav.’
‘We run from Old Country bomb many times. Old Country hating us too.’
‘I know that. I understand.’
‘Yes, but not every others,’ Pav said, indicating with his head the blocks that surrounded us.
‘They do, Pav. They know you’re refugees. They know that you ran from the Government in Old Country. They know that you hate them more than we do. Everyone knows this.’ I tried to reassure him.
‘Yes, but look they still with the dagger eye at us.’
‘It’s not you. They’re just scared of the Old Country troops now.’
‘I not patrol troop, Charlie.’
‘I know you’re not, Pav.’
‘I fook hate Old Country troop.’
‘Me too.’
‘More me.’
Pav folded the paper and put it in his shirt pocket. His shirt flapped around his tiny body like a sail in the wind.
‘And how are your mum and dad?’
‘All time in house. Shitless scared.’
I knew Pav’s dad was still working at the hospital, which thankfully had escaped bomb night. An Old Country tactic? But Pav’s dad could no longer ride the bus. It was too dangerous in case Old Country patrol did a quick-fire stop check. There had been news of some Old Country refugees being hunted down, discovered, taken away, questioned and never seen again. Game over. Pav told me that his dad had to be smuggled to work in the boot of a compassionate co-worker’s car. I wasn’t sure if I wanted to know this info or not. Imagine that I myself was dragged in for interview by Old Country troops one day and asked to provide them with any relevant info about traitors, plotters or schemers I knew of. I don’t think I could hold my tongue if they brought out the water buckets. Maybe it was better to know nothing. Head down. Nose clean. Say, do, see and know nada.
‘I’m sure it will ease off, Pav. I actually think that the Old Country troops will leave.’
Pav sniggered. ‘Don’t be eejit, Charlie. They want own Little Town. Make like Old Country. Soon they bring Old Country people to live here. So troops be here to protect these people. They no go anywhere. Trust in me.’
‘You think?’
‘I hundred per cent sure.’
‘My dad says this will happen as well,’ I said.
‘Then all Old Country people be the most hated in Little Town.’
‘Yeah … I think you may be right there, Pav.’
It was hard to disagree with Pav. No one really wanted mega numbers of Old Country folk arriving thinking they owned the place. Popping up their shops everywhere and speaking a lingo nobody understood. I wouldn’t have a clue what was going on. Imagine the confusion and all the kerfuffles. Maybe having their own shops was the reason for flattening the shopping area on bomb night. A part of me was thinking that perhaps life would be better with new shops: different places to go, a selection. Choices. We’ll see.
‘I no want to be person everyone hate, Charlie,’ Pav said.
‘You won’t be. Not while you’re in my company anyway.’ I pointed to the folded paper in his pocket. ‘You want to continue with the apostrophes?’
‘Let have break, Charlie.’
‘Sure thing, Pav. We can do some vocab instead.’ Pav groaned. I was unsure if it was his hunger pangs or his passion level. ‘I’ll tell you what I’ll do, I’ll just point out random things and you can tell me what they are. OK?’
‘OK,’ Pav said, with all the enthusiasm of a dead pig.
‘Come on, Pav, the brain still needs to be active. Keep it ticking over. A healthy mind and all that.’
Pav looked at me as if he was chatting to someone from another planet.
‘You know what I mean, Pav?’ I said.
He shook his head.
‘It doesn’t matter. Anyway, let’s start, OK?’ I said.
‘OK.’
‘Right.’ I looked around the empty shed. I pointed to my shoe. ‘What’s this?’
‘Feet.’
‘No, this?’
‘This is shoe.’
‘And this?’
‘This is floor.’
‘Or you could say ground.’
‘Floor ground.’
‘It’s one or the other, Pav. You choose.’
‘I choose floor.’
‘Good man. And this?’
‘This is arm.’
‘Yes, but what specific part of the arm?’
‘Middle arm.’
‘Good guess, Pav, but not right.’
I moved my arm up and down like I was pumping iron.
‘Muscle,’ Pav said.
‘No, this part.’
I pointed at the specific part.
‘I not know.’
‘It’s I don’t know, Pav. I don’t know. Not, I not know.’
‘I don’t know.’
‘I’ll give you a clue; it begins with the letter E.’
Pav’s eyes shot through me. Clueless.
‘I don’t know. My head empty.’
‘What I’m pointing to is my elbow, Pav.’ Pav touched his own elbow, all jaggy boned. ‘Say elbow.’
‘Elebow.’
‘No, not elebow … el-bow. Say it slower; it’s like two little words.’
‘El-bow.’
‘Brilliant.’
‘Why I need know this, Charlie?’ Pav said.
He had a point.
‘Well, in case you hurt it and you need to go to the doctor,’ I said, trying to think of good uses for elbows. ‘Or if you want to rest it on your knee when you’re knackered after a hard day’s graft. Or if some beautiful hot stuff does a romantic stroke on it or, even better, she wants you to hold on to hers because she needs protection.’ Pav was blank. Then the major significance of this word came to me. ‘But, most importantly, Pav, you’re not allowed to put these on your desk at school.’
‘Why?’
‘OK, I think we can move on,’ I said.
More groans. Not the hunger pangs.
‘What is this?’ I said, pointing to my bum. I thought it was time to inject some fun into the day. See if Pav’s eyes could glow. ‘Come on, you know this, Pav.’
Pav’s body tensed with the hard thinking.
‘Arsehole!’ said a voice from the shed’s door. ‘What are you two fudge-packers up to then?’ Norman’s head popped around.
‘Blooming hell, Norman,’ I said, putting my hand on my heart. ‘I pure shat it there.’
Pav didn’t budge.
‘Not to worry, it’s only me,’ Norman said. ‘You didn’t think it was one of those Old Country dickheads, did you?’ Norman’s eyes flicked towards Pav. ‘No offence.’
‘It no offend,’ Pav said.
‘How did you know where to find us?’ I said.
‘Where else would you two weirdos be?’ Norman stepped into the empty shed. With Erin F in mind I noted that there was no overcrowding problem. Result!
‘We’re just …’ I started, Norman put his hand up like a stop sign.
‘No need to explain anything to me, Charlie me old China, I’m a man of the world. Each to their own and all that,’ Norman said. ‘How are you, little man?’ he said to Pav.
‘I good, Norman. You?’
‘Getting by, getting by,’ Norman said. ‘I see the lingo is coming on.’ Norman winked at me.
‘It’s getting there, isn’t it, Pav?’ I said.
Pav shrugged his bony shoulders.
‘You lost a bit of weight, Norman,’ I said.
‘Tell me who hasn’t, Charlie?’ He stretched out his arms to show me his body.
‘Where have you been? We haven’t seen you in yonks,’ I said. Norman’s face changed position, as if I’d just offended his mother or something. ‘Just thinking of our chairs and table and lock. That’s all.’
‘Are you blind, Charlie?’
‘No. Why?’
‘So look around you.’
I looked out of the tiny window in the shed. I looked at Pav. He looked at me. I looked at the ceiling. I looked at Norman. I looked at Pav again, who stuck out his bottom lip.
‘I didn’t mean for you to actually look around you, did I?’ Norman said. Sometimes it was easy to extract the urine from Norman.
‘So have you come with news of our stuff?’ I said.
‘Jesus, Charlie! Little Town is a disaster area; it’s hard to do a slash now without thinking you’re being watched or followed.’
‘What is slash?’ Pav said.
‘I’m telling you, it’s easier trying to find a diamond in a haystack than getting your hands on a loaf of bread these days, and all you’re worried about is a crap chair and a lock?’
I didn’t want to tell him it was needles.
‘Three chairs actually, Norman. It was three chairs.’ It was my turn to put my hand up like a stop sign.
‘We met with The Big Man, Norman,’ I said.
‘Yes. We meet,’ Pav said.
‘I know, he told me,’ Norman said.
‘Is he OK? I mean, he’s not … erm … he’s not … like … erm …’
‘No. He’s fine, just up to his eyeballs in stress and stuff because of these Old Country pricks getting in the way of business.’ Norman pointed outside towards the Old Country pricks. Then he looked at Pav. ‘No offence.’
‘I no offend,’ Pav said.
‘Well, at least he’s not … you know,’ I said.
‘He’s sound. That’s partly why I’m here.’
‘Why?’
‘The Big Man wants a word with you two,’ Norman said.
‘What word?’ Pav said.
I wasn’t sure if this was Pav’s lingo deficiency or he was making a real joke. If it was a joke it was a chuckler. But I was part delighted and part nervous. Delighted because maybe The Big Man could get his hands on an inhaler for Mum as well as our stuff. Delighted because we’d finally be able to kit out our shed. Delighted because Erin F’s company in it was becoming real. However, I was nervous because it was The Big Man we were talking about after all. Nervous because he might still want to sort something out, eh?
‘He wants to see the both of you,’ Norman said.
‘What do you mean?’ I said.
‘What do you mean, what do I mean?’
‘Well, does he want a word or does he want to see us, Norman? Which one is it?’
‘Does it matter, Charlie?’
‘Yes, it does matter, Norman. Wants a word with you two is very different from he wants to see you both. Very different indeed.’
‘How?’ Norman said.
‘Well, for a start one’s a threat and one’s a request, that’s how,’ I said.
‘What do you think, little man?’ Norman said to Pav.
‘I not know.’
‘Thought so.’ Norman took a deep breath. ‘The Big Man wishes to speak with you pair of fannies. Is that better?’
‘Does he have our stuff?’ I said.
‘Did he tell you that he’d get you the stuff?’
‘Big Man say he get,’ Pav said.
‘OK, so if he said he’d get you the stuff he’ll get you the stuff. The Big Man’s word is good.’
‘So when does he want to see us?’ I said.
‘He’ll send someone over to pick you up,’ Norman said. ‘It’s dodge central out there on your own so it’s better that way.’
‘You go out there,’ I said.
‘Yes, but I know the score, Charlie. I know the ropes.’
‘Sure you do, Norman,’ I said.
‘Right, I can’t stay round here shooting the breeze with you two head-bangers all day. I’ve got to go see a man about a canine.’
We all shook hands like we’d done a business transaction or just put down a mysterious Mafia deal.
‘Well, cheers for the heads up, Norman.’
‘No worries,’ he said. ‘I’ll see you two cats later.’
We watched as Norman slammed the door shut behind him.
‘What is canine, Charlie?’ Pav asked.
‘A dog, Pav,’ I said, staring at the slammed door. ‘A dirty dog.’