Teething Trouble. Philip Edwards
them even though they are going to ……”
“Ssssshhhh,” whispered Mr. Simpkins through his rat-like teeth. He clasped his filthy hands over Barnaby’s mouth. “Ssssshhhh, Don’t say the D word. They’ll know, you know,” and he tipped a wink towards the cages at the rear.
Barnaby gently pushed the hand away. “Don’t worry Mr. Simpkins. I’ll be here at 11. I won’t let you down.”
“Fine. Excellent. I knew I could rely on you…..and remember, there’ll be something in it for you. Always is. Well done young fellow-me-lad. See you Saturday.” Said Mr Simpkins rubbing his dirty hands together.
Next along his walk to school came the clay pit. Just here, the path took a steep dip towards the valley floor.There was an easier way to get down this part of the hillside but the clay pit was a good shortcut , at the expense of just a little danger. It was a steep slope, covered with sticky, wet, orange clay. The significant challenge he faced was that, during winter time it tended to be very, very slippery. You had two options – you either had to focus on each and every footstep as if it would be your last, or you could use a more devil may care approach and sort of ski through the mud hoping that you were still upright and in one piece at the bottom. If you slipped or fell, and trust me you really didn’t want to take a tumble on the clay pit, then you’d end up cut, bruised and covered with sort of an orange coloured stain. Barnaby knew that a slip on the clay pit would result in a yelling from Ma, followed by a good hard beating with the belt.
“HOWMANYTIMESHAVEIGOTCHATELLYOU? Don’t (Slap!) go sliding down (Bop!) the clay (Pow!) pit (Zap!). Go (Smack!) the sensible(Thwack!) way! (Wham!)
Nigel Rivett’s bungalow was just off the normal and sensible route to school. Routinely, Barnaby tried at all costs to avoid meeting Nigel whenever possible – as it often meant trouble if he did. It was acknowledged by everyone that Nigel Rivettt was not the best fighter in the class - although he definitely had the edge on Barnaby. However, he certainly wasn’t as fast as Barnaby. In fact, in last year’s Sports Day Barnaby had beaten Nigel in the 100m race by at least ten metres. Thankfully no major incident had spoiled the relationship between the two boys. You see, Nigel was a bit of a wheeler dealer. He’d buy things off other children and somehow always managed to sell them on at a profit. Comic Club was his top wheeze at the moment. All the lads from his class would meet in his garden to swop comics. Barnaby wanted and needed to be in Comic Club because he was hardly ever able to afford new comics. Comic Club meant that you’d manage to get to read new comics every few weeks without actually spending too much money. The hard reality of the club, however, was that Rivett took his cut of the action :- approximately 10%. When you walked into his garden then straight away, Rivett would take one of your comics as his cut……AND, he’d always take the best one…..the cleanest one, the shiniest one, the one that still smelled of comicy newness.
Of course, there was another reason why he wanted to avoid Rivett today. It involved Barnaby’s recently sprained arm and a crepe bandage sling. Putting everything together, Barnaby decided to risk the Clay Pit, not knowing that it would prove to be quite a good decision. Well at least good in parts.
Chapter 3.
The Deal.
Thankfully Barnaby managed to reach the bottom of the slope unscathed. On this occasion there had been a particularly slippery part about half way down but he had managed to skid past that not only without falling but actually looking quite cool; as though he was an accomplished downhill ski champion. It was quite a shame really that there had been nobody around to stare in wonder and applaud his breakneck do or die style - but hey ho. On the other hand, if he had slipped in front of a large critical audience, no doubt there would have many very willing to judge his performance or lack of technique.
As he continued on his familiar journey, he was just walking past the glove factory entrance when his sharp eye suddenly spotted it. A rare treasure indeed, just lying there glistening with morning dew - speckled here and there with flecks of dust. He looked around to make sure nobody could see him. No, to his knowledge, there was nobody around. Thankfully, this particular morning there would be no unseen witnesses. He reached inside his pocket and pulled out a small, black plastic bag. Moving efficiently in a rehearsed manner he knew the routine he was about to follow well after several years of practice.
Down.
Scoop it.
Turn it.
Twist it.
Knot it.
Pocket it.
All efficiently done, in one well rehearsed routine Anyone watching his movements would have been reminded of a fine tuned machine or of a graceful Russian ballerina – as he swiftly scooped into action. It was indeed a well planned routine built upon the experience of rehearsal in trying to make an unpleasant task into something that would even have impressed gymnastic judges. Ma Spruddge would be so proud of unexpected find. A bag of white. Maybe he’d now get an egg on Sunday? Nobody, not even vets, actually knew why it happened but occasionally a dog would produce white poo. This was a pretty rare commodity and highly sought after and prized by the H.G.G.L. factory. Barnaby remembered his dad telling him in graphic detail that there was a special, small vat kept just for making white leather gloves. These particular gloves were highly prized and sought after by very rich ladies – due to the gloves being so exclusive and rare. His dad had called them ‘the more money than sense ladies.’ As a direct result of his luck, Ma Spruddge would be able sell it and fetch a tidy sum for Barnaby’s treasure. This lucky event left him with a broad smile. He just needed to remember to to avoid the coat pocket when his right hand grew cold.
Barnaby turned the last corner along his eventful journey. He could see the wrought iron school gate just slightly ajar ahead of him– enough of a gap for a single child to pass through safely. It appeared as if the gap had been created by someone on purpose as the gate was routinely wide open at this time of day. He also recognised Beth just heading towards the same school gate. She appeared to be checking her watch and doing some adding with her fingers. Barnaby gave her a welcoming smile and a knowing nod and she in turn smiled back. Suddenly, a thoroughly threatening figure stepped into view. A tall and quite alarming figure with hair combed into a mock Mohican hairstyle. Nigel Rivett. AND, he didn’t look happy.
Rivett had clearly been responsible for the partly closed the gate. He had been hiding and waiting behind it but he now stepped right in front of Barnaby, completely filling the space between the gate and the gate post.
“Well hello Spruddgey, Happy New Year. Have you got it?”
At school everybody affectionately called Barnaby Spruddgey. It was a ‘sweet’ little pet name brought about when all of the other children had one day discovered that Barnaby was quite a tricky name to pronounce. The name stuck like glue. Complaining just added to the frequent use of the name. Strange that they didn’t call him Porridge after all, he ate enough of it. Privately, Barnaby hated the name but at the same time he decided to grin and bear it; after all, they could have dreamed up something far worse.
“Have I got what?” asked Barnaby.
“The sling of course. The sling for my arm.” Rivett squealed impatiently.
“No I haven’t. My arm’s better now so Ma took it away. Anyway, the deal was for six weeks. Six weeks have passed now, haven’t they?” explained Barnaby in a matter of fact manner.
“Yes, that’s right. Six weeks ” replied Rivett abruptly, then added as if in self explanation, “But the last two weeks were Christmas holiday weeks. You can’t count them. We made a deal. I should now get another two weeks use of the sling.”
Beth, having just entered the school grounds immediately before Barnaby, had heard the conversation and being a somewhat nosey sort of character couldn’t help but ask, “What kind of deal have you made? If you’ve made a deal with HIM, you know